





































































































































7 







1 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 



CONTINENTAL 


WAT-SIDE NOTES: 


THE DIARY 

1 

OF 


A SEVEN MONTHS’ TOUR IN EUROPE. 


E. S. STANDEN. 

# » 



PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION. 

1865 . 



J7?/f 

.S7t 


LONDON: 

FEINTED BY VIRTUE AND CO., 
CITY EOAD. 




\ 


PREFACE. 


Before settling down t&] commercial pursuits, the 
opportunity was afforded me by my guardians of 
spending several months in travelling through 
Europe. 

The cacoethes scribendi —a complaint common to 
most young travellers — took possession of me; 
and the jottings which resulted therefrom were 
sent home from time to time, in the shape of a 
journal, for distribution among friends. 

If, by giving them a wider circulation in their 
present form, others should be induced to undertake 
a trip which was a source of so much pleasure and 
instruction to myself, I shall feel amply rewarded 
for any labour the _ production of these u Way-side 
Notes ” may have entailed. 

23, Maddox Street, London, 

October Yltli, 1865. 





CONTENTS 


Chap. Page 

I. From Liverpool to Gibraltar. 1 

II. Genoa. 11 

III. Leghorn, Lucca, Pisa. 24 

IV. Pisa.33 

V. Naples and its Vicinity. 41 

VI. Rome. 79 

VII. Florence.98 

VIII. Bologna, Mantua, Verona, Padua. 106 

IX. Venice. 115 

X. Trieste, Adelsberg, Vienna. 127 

XI. The Danube and Galatz. 139 

XII. Constantinople. 149 

XIII. Athens. 165 

XIV. Milan, Pavia, and the Italian Lakes. 174 

XV. The Splugen Pass, the Baths of Pfeffers, and 

Bodensee .. 192 

XVI. Innsbruck, Achensee, Bad Kreuth, Tegernsee . . 200 

XVII. Munich. 213 

XVIII. The Tyrol:—Berchtesgaden, Salzberg, and Wild- 

bad Gastein. 227 




















vm 


CONTENTS. 


Chap. Page 

XIX. The Tyrol :—The Seissenbach Klamm, Zell-am-see, 

Fuscher Thal, Gross Glockner, Heiligenblut, 

AND WlLDBADGASTElN. 246 

XX. The Tyrol :—Badstadt, Annaberg, Gosau, Hallstadt, 

ISCHL, AND THE SCHAFBERG . 259 

XXI. Ischl to Prague, through Linz and Budweis . . 276 

XXII. Prague. 281 

XXIII. Dresden. 298 

XXIV. Saxon Switzerland. 314 

XXV. Berlin. 321 

XXVI. Potsdam .. .337 









CONTINENTAL WAYSIDE NOTES. 

- «•- 


CHAPTER I. 

FROM LIVERPOOL TO GIBRALTAR. 

April 21st, 1857.—My friend S. and I, having spent the 
morning in leave-takings and preparations, betook ourselves, 
towards 5 in the afternoon, to the good ship Meander, now 
lying about half a mile out from the Egremont pier. "VVe 
are the only two passengers among a crew of thirty-eight, 
including two mates and a boatswain. Our vessel is a 
large screw steamship, bound for Naples, and calling at 
Gibraltar, Genoa, and Leghorn. At 6 P.M. we weigh anchor. 
Two hours later a blue light is suspended from the side of 
the vessel, which soon produces a like demonstration from 
some small object far out in the gloom. In less than five 
minutes the pilot’s little boat is alongside, and we are left 
to the skill of our captain, who, though apparently under 
thirty years of age, has the air of having seen something of 
the world. 

What need to record the misery of the next two days ? 
Who that has ever made a long sea-voyage cares to be 
reminded of the state of utter incapacity and wretchedness 
with which it began P The restless tossing to and fro in the 
narrow berth, with the great pulse of the vessel beating 
almost immediately beneath, and communicating its inces- 



2 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

sant activity to the huge propeller at the stern; the rude 
shocks of the waves against the iron ribs of the ship, in 
which your own particular cabin seems to be the special 
point of attack ; the ever-present nausea, until, like Hood’s 
poor “ Unfortunate,” you would be, 

“ Glad to death’s mystery 
Swift to be hurl’d— 

Anywhere, anywhere, 

Out of the world! ” 

Painful experiences were those of the Irish Channel and 
the Bay of Biscay, only to be forgotten in the delights of the 
Atlantic and the Mediterranean ! 

April 24 th. — Once more in the land of the living. And 
here it may b A well just to speak of the kind of accommoda¬ 
tion we had on board. A long saloon occupied the space 
between the quarter-deck, and from it little doors opened 
into the cabins. My friend and I being the only passengers 
were allowed each a cabin. They were very roomy and 
commodious—those farthest from the stern, about nine feet 
by six feet; each had two berths, one above the other; oppo¬ 
site the berths a sofa, above that a porthole, and a washing- 
stand facing the door. 

The ship’s library consisted of an old magazine and two or 
three numbers of Knight’s Shakespeare belonging to one of 
the mates. Doctor there was none ; the steward, it is true, 
professed to have the key of the medicine-chest in any case 
of emergency, but so long as he managed the culinary depart¬ 
ment as well as he did while we were on board, there was 
little chance of his medical skill being called into action. 
He never failed to give us variety, and although the same 
dish may have made its appearance a second time, it came 
with such a new face as completely to disguise the cheat. 
Dessert was only allowed when we reached foreign ports, 
and even then a strict limit was imposed; but our steward 
was a man of large heart, and promised to stretch the limit 
for once, and lay in a liberal stock of all that was to be had 
when we arrived at Gibraltar. A gentleman we met after¬ 
wards assured us the fare was not nearly so good in the 
Peninsular and Oriental Company’s packets. We had three 


FROM LIVERPOOL TO GIBRALTAR. 


3 


meals a day—breakfast at half-past 8, dinner at 1, tea at 6— 
our mess consisting of the captain, the two mates, and our¬ 
selves. 

But I hear some of my friends wondering what we could 
possibly find to amuse ourselves with the livelong day. I 
can only say they are grievously mistaken if they fancy a 
trip to Naples in a merchant steamer offers no amusement, 
even for two solitary passengers. I really do not know 
whether, on the whole, this was not the most pleasurable 
part of my tour. “What find to amuse ourselves,” do you 
ask ? Why, a hundred things. How could we better com¬ 
mence the day, for instance, than by taking a shower-bath 
while the men were washing the decks. We had but to 
tumble out of our berths at 6 o’clock, rush on to the main- 
deck, and there, on the poop above us, with the hose in his' 
hand, stood our jolly little second mate, as ready and willing 
for the sport as ourselves. He turned the pipe in fall force 
first on one and then on the other, and only seemed sorry 
when, after prancing and capering about to our heart’s con¬ 
tent, we fled to cover, and left the hose to spend itself on 
the deck. 

Then again there was always something new to be seen. 
At the pace we were speeding, one novelty or another was 
always exciting our curiosity. Now it was a tiny speck on 
the horizon, and we wondered how long it would be growing 
into a vessel, and what kind of a vessel, and should we pass 
near enough to speak with her? Now we neared the 
Spanish coast, and our glasses were brought to bear on its 
pretty snug little white towns and the numerous small forts 
on the hill-tops. Now porpoises are darting about along 
side, swimming races in couples, or springing bodily out of 
the sea, and plunging down again with a noise like the 
hissing of a red-hot poker in a bucket of water ; the captain 
brings out a long carbine and an old double-barrel jungle 
rifle, with which we vainly endeavour to cut short the antics 
of one or two of them. And when they have disappeared we 
keep up the practice by firing at empty bottles suspended 
from an oar attached to the bulwark ; or, tossing them into 
the sea, try to fancy them waterfowl as they float with 


4 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


their necks above the surface. Then again there is generally 
something of interest going on in the management of the 
ship, and the daily duties of the men, particularly the getting 
the cargo ready as we near a port. And even when nothing 
else was to be done, w T e knew the first mate could always 
spin us a yarn equal to any novel in existence. And, as 
evening approached, we looked forward to a glorious sunset 
almost as a matter of course; after this came a twilight of a 
few minutes only, followed by a mysteriously sudden dark¬ 
ness. The lighthouses twinkled on the distant coast; and 
round about the vessel, if the night were favourable, the 
surface of the sea would be lit up with that marvellously 
phosphorescent light which, I think, no one has yet been 
able satisfactorily to account for. Besides all these sources 
of amusement we had, of course, our books—our Murray to 
prepare us for the wonders, our dictionary for the language, 
of Italy. And when all else failed, why the very fact of being 
aboard-ship, with the glorious blue canopy above and the 
dark green ocean beneath, and even the sensation produced 
by the rolling of the vessel when the first nausea had passed 
away, to lie on the hatchway and watch the “ white horses ” 
come foaming along—this was enjoyment in itself, and we 
soon began to understand something of the sailor’s affection 
for his ship and the sea. 

At 11.30 this morning we first caught sight of the north¬ 
west coast of Spain, near Corunna , famous as the burial-place 
of Sir John Moore. At 7.45 p.m. saw the lighthouse on Cape 
Finisterre. 

April 25th .—The air begins to be much softer, giving us a 
delicious foretaste of the Mediterranean. At 10 P.M. we got 
a glimpse of the revolving-light on the rock of Cintra , at 
the mouth of the Tagus, immortalised by Byron in Childe 
Harold. The sparkling crystals on the surface of the water 
are very beautiful to-night. 

April 2 6th, 10 a.m. —Passing Cape St. Yincent, with the 
Moncliique mountains in the distance. Fine old convent 
and lighthouse on the rock of St. Yincent. Several small 
craft lying near the coast, and a large steamer at anchor that 
would not condescend to answer our signals. To-day being 


from Liverpool’ to Gibraltar. o 

Sunday, a little extra polish is observable among the men : 
there is a cessation of all but absolutely necessary work, and 
with their dinner they have suet pudding or “ duff.” They 
get fresh meat and soup daily, and potatoes three times 
a week. Grog is proscribed ; this was a recent regulation. 
The captain says it saves him a great deal of trouble, and 
the men do not seem much to mind it, for they begin counting 
up the days directly they leave port, and the first chance 
they have of getting ashore they take it all out in one day. 
It was the finest sunset this evening we have yet had, and I 
was just about to make a few glowing notes of the appear¬ 
ance of the sky, when my companion upset my gravity by 
saying he should save himself trouble by simply stating 
that it beggared all description ; and then he began comparing 
the sun to a peg-top and the moon to a cheese, so that I was 
obliged to abandon the attempt. 

April 27th, 6 A.M. —Hip ! hip ! hip ! hurrah ! and one 
cheer more, for we have entered the lovely Mediterranean, and 
are almost wild with delight, so enchanting does everything 
appear. Yesterday the sea was of the deepest green; to-day 
we behold it changed, as if by magic, into a colour that 
rivals in purity the blue vault above. A luxurious repose 
seems to rest upon everything; our vessel glides noise¬ 
lessly into the harbour, and as it does so we make careful 
notes of the topographical features of the straits. Here, 
on the right, stands prominently forward a fine old grey 
cliff called the Ape’s Hill, the most northern point in 
Africa, and one of the Pillars of Hercules. Beyond and 
in the rear of this rises the fortified town of Ceuta , the 
Spanish Botany Bay; the name is said to be a contraction 
of “ septem,” from the seven hills on which it is built. On 
the left the white walls and houses of Algeciras are glistening 
in the sun’s rays; and right in front of us is the glorious old 
rock and town of Gibraltar ! 

Our skipper is as busy as he can be, dodging from side to 
side, glass in hand, to secure a safe passage through the 
manifold shipping that crowds the harbour. And now the 
word has gone to let go the anchor. Soon the ‘ ‘ health 
officer” comes alongside, and gives “pratique” or, as the 


. 6 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

men call it, “prodick”— i.e. the license to land and trade 
with the natives. It was highly amusing to observe the 
suspicious manner in which the officer received the certificate 
from the captain, taking hold of it with a pair of pincers, 
laying it on the seat of the boat, and placing a stone on one 
corner while he read, lest he should catch any epidemic we 
might have brought with us. Our quarantine is of very 
short duration, for directly breakfast is over we are told 
we may go on shore—a permission of which you may be 
sure we lost no time in taking advantage. 

Do any of my friends know what it is to come suddenly, 
for the first time in their lives, upon a southern town F By 
such only will our experiences of this day be understood. 
To no purpose should I attempt to describe our sensations 
and emotions as we landed on the “common hard” of 
Gibraltar. Little more than five days since, be it remem¬ 
bered, we had left one of the greatest maritime ports of 
North Europe. The weather in England had been no 
better than we are accustomed to look for at this season 
of the year, and in the costume of the natives only just 
such variety was noticeable as our stern race is capable of. 
But here, without any kind of preparation on the way, we 
are brought suddenly into contact with representatives of I 
cannot tell how many nations, speaking a like number of 
foreign languages, and exhibiting in dress all the pic¬ 
turesque variety of southern climes—Spaniards, Portuguese, 
Moors, Biffs from the opposite coast of Africa, tawny Arabs, 
proud Algerian merchants attended by Moorish servants, 
and youthful individuals who look as though they belong to 
neither sex, their heads enveloped in white cowls and their 
bodies in long cloaks of the same colour reaching to the 
ground. Such was the nature of the crowd that, partly 
from curiosity, partly from an interest in the cargo we 
had brought, clustered round us on the landing-place. As 
to the temperature, it cannot have been far short of 100° 
Fahrenheit, and as we walk on through the town no 
wonder if our eyes dilate with astonishment at gardens full 
of flowers that do not appear till the middle of summer 
with Us, Scarlet geraniums and roses hanging in wild pro- 




FROM LIVERPOOL TO GIBRALTAR. 7 

fusion over the walls, the white blossom of the hawthorn— 
already beginning to fade—prickly pears and figs, looking as 
though they would soon be fit to gather, and orange trees 
in every stage of progress filling the air with their delicious 
fragrance. 

Our steps are first directed into the market-place, where 
the orange-stalls are so numerous as to give colour to the 
whole market. We thread our way through the motley 
groups that stand gossiping and idling about, until our 
progress is arrested by a voice calling out in very good 
accent, “ Sir ! sir ! How many dozen will you of oranges ? ” 
This came from an individual perched high up above a long 
pyramidal embankment of oranges; he was a magnificent 
old fellow with a black beard, white turban, and long white 
cloak, the usual Moorish costume. We reply to his saluta¬ 
tion by filling our pockets with as much of his fruit as we 
can carry—such fruit as no money would purchase in Eng¬ 
land, for which we paid twopence—and then, escaping from 
the busy scene, proceed to mount the fortifications. On our 
way we meet the bagpipes of the 92nd Highlanders. The 
strength of the garrison at the present moment is about 
6,000—viz., the aforesaid Highlanders, six regiments of the 
line, and two companies of Artillery. 

Half-way up the hill, at the entrance to what are called 
the “ galleries ” we fall in with a party of two Irishmen and 
an Englishman about to go the round with a sergeant of 
artillery, and gladly accept an invitation to join them. 
These wonderful galleries are nothing less than a continued 
series of subterranean passages, hewn out of the living lime¬ 
stone rock, and reaching, by a graduated ascent, to the very 
highest battery, 1,496 feet above the sea-level. At short 
intervals guns peep out through the embrasures, and here 
and there a platform affords a place for some half-dozen or so. 
In one part the gallery widens out into a large chamber 
called St. George’s Hall, where a dinner was given to Nelson, 
on the occasion of his visit to the fort. And here we were 
shown specimens of canister and grape shot, the latter 
consisting of a number of small shot, the size of bagatelle- 
balls, laced together so firmly that you would thinkmothing 



8 


CONTDffENTAL "WAY-SIDE NOTES, 


could separate them, and yet, according 1 to the sergeant, 
they scatter the moment they leave the gun. The pieces 
now in the foil; are chiefly 12 and 24-pounders, but in 
a short time there will be none less than 32 and a great 
many 68. Eleven 13-inch mortars are stationed in various 
parts. Relative to these, a new piece of information to me 
was that they are always kept at an angle of 45°, and the 
distance regelated by the amount of powder, while the range 
of a cannon, on the contrary, is regulated by its elevation. 
The aggregate strength of the fort is 706 guns. 

The view, looking out from the vertical face of the rock 
on the north side, is magnificent, and for an Englishman, 
truly a proud one! Immediately beneath are the English 
and Spanish camps, separated only by a narrow strip of 
neutral ground, which is occupied by an immense number 
of cattle belonging to the garrison. A race-course marks 
the boundary of our encampment in one direction, and on it 
the grand stand is being erected, preparatory to a race to¬ 
morrow. There, too, is the military burial-ground, already 
over-tenanted; and a small plain between the camp and 
the sea, where a few infantry, like so many pigmies, from 
the height at which we view them, are at target practice. 
Directly facing us, and at no great distance, is a lofty hill 
surmounted by a rude pile of stones,’ called the “ Queen’s 
Chair,” whence, it is said, the Queen of Spain watched the 
famous siege. To the right of the low sandy plain just 
referred to, is the Mediterranean, to the left the small bay 
that forms the harbour of the town. 

Such is the singular position of this, so-to-speak, isolated 
and apparently impregnable fortress of Gibraltar. 

Emerging from the galleries, at a point considerably 
below the summit, we took a few moments’ repose on the 
hill-side. An immense number of goats were climbing the 
slope on all sides of us. Several boys were tending them, 
three of whom, droll, waggish-looking little fellows, speedily 
approached us. One, speaking English with tolerable 
fluency, gratuitously informed us they were young “rock- 
scorpions,” or “ salamanders,” generic terms for those bom 
on the *ock. After an amusing colloquy, relative to the 


FROM LIVERPOOL TO GIBRALTAR. 


9 


duties of his profession, we strike a bargain with him for 
a bottle of pure goat’s milk, which he draws in our presence. 
It was extremely rich, and is the only kind used by the 
inhabitants. For cattle there is no pasturage; the inhabi¬ 
tants are dependent on Barbary for their beef, by a contract 
with the Emperor of Morocco. 

From the signal battery, to which we now ascend, we 
obtained a still more comprehensive idea of the immense 
advantages of our position here. Not a vessel of any kind 
can pass either in or out of the Straits but she must come 
beneath the scrutiny of the garrison, and make answer to 
inquiry by hoisting her colours. Should she refuse to 
do this after the warning gun has fired, nothing can save 
her from the guns of the batteries. 

At this stage of our march, one of our Irish friends grows 
singularly facetious, and holds an amusing dialogue with 
one of the soldiers. I made notes at the time of a few of the 
most quaint of his remarks; but on paper, shorn of the 
peculiar accent and gesture which accompanied them, I find 
they lose their point. In the course of our walk, among 
other scraps of original information, he gave us a very 
capital recipe for disposing of “touters” and other im¬ 
portunate beggars at railway stations, hotels, and else¬ 
where. They will sometimes not be satisfied with a flat 
refusal, and when you think you have a customer of this 
kind to deal with, show all possible concern to understand 
him and to fathom his errand; look dreadfully disappointed 
that you are not able to comprehend him, and finally walk 
away quite disgusted with yourself that your slender ac¬ 
quaintance with the language prevents you from giving him 
the information he seems to require ; he will soon give you 
up in despair. This, our companion said, he has tried more 
than once with great success, especially at an hotel he had 
not long since left at Barcelona, where, although he had 
particularly ordered every charge to be included in the bill, 
a troop of waiters, porters, and other functionaries hung 
about him to the last moment. In addition to this he 
gave us such an exciting description of a bull-fight he had 
just witnessed at Seville, and of the charms of several 


10 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

Spanish towns along the coast, as made me ardently desirous 
to see them. 

In descending the hill by the south side we turned from 
the path for a few minutes to inspect St. Michael’s Cave, a 
remarkable stalactite curiosity of considerable extent, but 
requiring torches to appreciate it justly. All “ affairs ot 
honour” among the officers used to be settled here. 

The view from the pathway we are now following is of the 
most romantic description. Just below lies the harbour, 
holding about one hundred craft of different kinds, and 
the whole of the town with its beautiful gardens and 
alamedas. Beyond, in the middle distance, are the Straits, 
bounded by the bold rocky outline of the African coast; 
and here, scattered on all sides around us, stunted palms, 
cactuses, aloes, and innumerable rock-plants are peeping 
between the grey stones. Vegetation, in fact, seems all , 
but tropical. "We looked in vain for the monkeys, of which 
we expected to see many, as well as for rabbits and par¬ 
tridges; these are said to be as plentiful as vermin, and 
no one, not even the governor, is permitted to shoot or 
destroy them. 

With steps ever and anon arrested by the surpassing 
beauty of some new prospect do we zigzag downwards 
through all this wild luxuriance and profusion, till we 
regain the town at the opposite end to that from which we 
left it. 

Now we enter the alamedas or public gardens—small, but 
prettily laid out; then saunter along the parade, where 
the heat is insufferable, and where the beaux of Gibraltar 
are taking the air with white umbrellas and canvas shoes; 
then pass a long block of buildings—the barracks, and 
finally enter the narrow streets, with their glaring white 
houses, and a somewhat crowded population, whose varied 
costumes and physiognomies seem to bespeak them from 
every nation under the sun. The shops are chiefly of the 
most meagre description, with not the slightest attempt at 
display. Nearly all of them are kept by Spaniards and 
Algerians, and the combination of foreign names with 
English announcements is very striking; for example :— 




GENOA. 


11 


“ Francisco Menos, agent for Day and Martin’s Blacking; ” 
“ Manuel Ximenes, Lodgings and Neat Liquors.” 

Mules appear to be the only beasts of burden and draught; 
the favourite vehicle is a carriage in the form of a 
perambulator, and not many times larger. The dark 
Spanish girls upset our equilibrium more than once; their 
dress is almost invariably of black silk or satin, with a long 
black lace veil attached to the back of the hair by a pin, 
and -which they are ever readjusting in a most coquettish 
manner. 

After gleaning some more useful information from our 
Irish friend with regard to our future course, we parted 
with a hearty shake of the hands, and reached the vessel 
again about three o’clock. 

The only souvenir I brought away with me, in addition 
to a few specimens of quartz, was a pair of white canvas 
shoes, for which I paid 6s., i.e., 6s. 6d. of our money; the 
shilling here being worth only eleven pence. I found them 
very agreeable on board during the remainder of the 
voyage. 


CHAPTER II. 

GENOA. 

We have made a passage from Liverpool of five days and 
nine hours, the shortest but one on record. And now we 
are bound for Genoa, with the addition of one passenger only, 
a middle-aged, sober-looking individual, remarkable at pre¬ 
sent for his uncommunicativeness. 

We had a superb sunset over the Spanish hills this evening, 
accompanied by the curious phenomenon of a “parhelion,” 
or mock sun. The disc of the real sun had scarcely dis¬ 
appeared, when a shadow' of it, about one-fourth the size, 
took its place, and at a short distance to the left a still fainter 
shadow of this one; as tho reality sank, so these two kept 
gradually rising and growing more indistinct, until finally 



12 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


obscured by clouds. A fitting climax, this, we thought, to 
our first day in a southern latitude. It would be worse than 
useless to attempt to give any idea of the many new and 
almost bewildering emotions we have experienced. It is as 
though a new world had suddenly been opened up to us, and 
we feel how utterly short of reality anything like description 
must appear. 

April 28 th .—We have been hugging the Spanish coast 
all day. There is poetry in every line of it. No harsh, 
rugged cliffs, but one long series of soft, undulating hills, 
sloping down towards the sea, and terminating generally 
in a deep red sandy beach. A few of the more distant 
ranges are very lofty, and covered with snow. There is 
something intensely fascinating about the whole group that 
rivets our gaze by the hour—their graceful shapes, their 
rich warm colour’s as they approach the shore, and the 
gentle blending of their varied tints as they recede one 
behind the other; we are loath to part company with 
them, which, however, we shall be obliged to do to-night. 
We pass Malaga , but not sufficiently near to see it. Car¬ 
tagena is the only town of importance of which we have had 
a good view. It has a clean, tidy aspect, with a fine harbour, 
and is well protected on the land side by three strongly 
fortified hills. 

Our sedate friend, who has been attached in some 
capacity to the embassy at the Sublime Porte, and is travel¬ 
ling in search of health, has been singularly communicative 
to-day, and has favoured us with much information relative 
to Italy and Eastern life. 

April 29 th .—No adventure worth recording to-day. 
Passed close by the Balearic Isles, which present a coast-line 
of grey hills, many of them sufficiently lofty to be tipped 
with snow. 

Had a conversation with the captain in the evening con¬ 
cerning the machinery of the vessel, and then dived down into 
her innermost recesses to see in practice what we had been 
talking about. What a Tartarus was here! Ten roaring 
furnaces consuming between them 30 tons of coal a day. 
The men who tend these fires are seldom seen, it is said, 


GENOA. 


13 


beyond the age of thirty; and one can hardly wonder at it. 
Fancy passing your existence in a hole at the bottom of 
a ship, with the engines and all their oiliness at one end, and 
at the other ten huge furnaces, five on each side, and a 
passage of some nine or ten feet running between them. 
Each furnace is shut in by an iron door ; before it are piled 
the coals with which the stoker is almost unremittingly 
employed in feeding it. I have seen the poor fellows 
crawl up on deck sometimes to take in a mouthful of fresh 
air, and to wring out the perspiration from their jackets 
as water is squeezed from a wet towel! The wonder is, I 
think, that they live as long as they do. 

Spent the remainder of the evening in the captain’s own 
cabin, looking over charts and other nautical curiosities. 

April 30 th. —Cold northerly wind all day; very heavy 
sea—ship disgracefully tipsy ! Nine times out of ten this 
is the case, the captain says, in crossing the mouth of the 
Gulf of Lyons. While the vessel was pitching and tossing 
from one side to the other, I narrowly escaped what might 
have been a very serious accident. I was sitting on a 
huge chest in which they kejA the signals, looking out 
upon the rolling sea, when a tremendous lurch came, that 
sent me sprawling on the deck, and the box right over my 
head against the bulwarks. I got off with a slight bruise, 
but took care to give the treacherous chest a wide berth for 
the future. At 5 p.m. we came abreast of Toulon , and not 
more than ten or twelve miles distant, but the weather was 
too hazy to distinguish anything. 

May 1st .—What a change one short night has wrought! 
The rude elements appear to hail the dawn of May-day, and 
all nature is calm, and still, and beautiful. The surface 
of the sea is like glass; not a ripple disturbs it; and the 
sky down to the very horizon is of the purest Italian blue. 
We are coasting at a distance of three or four miles only 
along the South of France, whose sublime snow-capped 
maritime Alps, and coquettish little towns and villages 
scattered over the hills beneath, are a never-failing source 
of delight. 

And now comes into view Genoa la Superba , city of 


14 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


palaces. Its aspect from a distance is most enchanting. We 
have never before seen anything so altogether lovely and 
fairy-like. The commercial part of the town, including the 
quays, and the new mole and harbour crowded with shipping, 
occupies the centre of the picture, while the principal 
palaces and suburban residences extend nearly a mile on 
each side along the semicircular shore, and far up the steep 
and strongly-fortified hills that secure to the place an immu¬ 
nity from foreign aggression. At 1 P.M., after rejecting 
the proffered services of an officious old pilot who came 
some way out to meet us, we entered the spacious, but 
densely crowded, harbour. At its south-west extremity is 
a superb lighthouse, whose lantern, 400 feet above the sea- 
level, is visible thirty miles from shore. 

We seemed to be already in the land of poetry and of 
song; for scarcely were we fairly anchored when our ears 
were saluted with strains of gushing melody, which appeared 
to have their origin in some part of the ship’s atmosphere. 
Nor were we greatly mistaken in our conjecture, for on 
looking over the bulwarks, there, at the foot of the ladder, 
and partly shaded by the vessel’s dark ribs, floated a small 
boat containing the authors of this gratifying welcome; they 
were a man and three females with violins and guitars, and 
clad in that picturesque costume which had been associated, 
from our earliest recollections, with Italian landscape and 
romance. I would have tendered my small recognition of 
their efforts to please through my own cabin-window, under 
which the boat lay, but S. was beforehand with me, and had 
darted down to the lowest step of the ladder, where I believe, 
from beneath the broad-brimmed hat of one of the syrens, 
he met with an appeal that was perfectly irresistible. 

While waiting permission to land, the proprietor of the 
Hotel d’ltalie (the best in Genoa) came on board, to seek the 
good graces of the captain, and to solicit the honour of our 
patronage. He had been formerly a courier, and had just 
sunk his savings in the purchase of this first-rate establish¬ 
ment, which he had put into thorough repair. He spoke 
English well, although a Frenchman, and, with the affability 
and volubility peculiar to that race, succeeded so perfectly 







GENOA. 


15 


in engrossing onr attention during the bustle and confusion 
attendant on landing, that, before we well knew where we 
were, we found ourselves in the entrance-hall of his hotel. 
We intended sleeping on board ship, however, so we could 
not do more than promise to dine at the table-cV hote. But we 
must accompany him to inspect the internal arrangement of 
the establishment, “ if only to show us,” as he said, “ where 
to bring our papas and mammas.” One long range of bed¬ 
rooms, where everything, from the walls to the bed-curtains, 
was white, and the respective windows of which opened out 
on a broad stone terrace adorned with statues, overlook¬ 
ing the harbour, called forth our especial admiration. 
But what interested me more than anything was the fact 
that this was the old Palace of the Pieschis—the very centre 
of activity in Schiller’s stirring play of Fiasco , which I 
had just been reading; some of its most exciting scenes 
rose up vividly before me as I looked down into the narrow 
street below. 

It was too late in the day to inspect the town syste¬ 
matically, so we contented ourselves for that afternoon with 
a quiet saunter through the principal streets, in order to get 
some general idea of its more striking external features. 
This plan of first making a superficial acquaintance with a 
place before visiting it in detail, was found an excellent one, 
and we generally adopted it when we had the time. In the 
present instance our first impressions were not altogether 
favourable. A few of the principal streets, such as the 
Vias Nuova , Nuovissima, Balbi, and Carlo Felice, answered 
our expectations tolerably well. Two of them consisted 
wholly of palaces. The structure of these is massive and 
lofty, with heavy projecting roofs, and windows protected by 
iron bars—the latter fact strongly significant we thought of 
former riots and insurrections, and of the very precarious 
existence those old Genoese nobles and princely merchants 
must have led. The pavement is of reddish granite, in large 
blocks more than a foot long, arranged in the herring-bone 
pattern, and with no raised causeway for foot-passengers. 
Vehicles of any description, luckily, are rare in this quarter ; 
a few antiquated omnibuses may be seen, at remote intervals, 


16 


CONTINENTAL "WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


crawling lazily along in the more frequented parts, and in 
an open space in front of the principal theatre we imagined 
we saw what was intended for a stand of hackney- 
coaches, or rather open carriages, but of so antique and ill- 
conditioned a nature that in our own country we should 
have set them down as venerable relics of the past. In the 
vicinity of the quays, it is true, a little more animation in 
this particular was visible, but, contrasted with the restless 
activity prevailing in our own corresponding thorough¬ 
fares—a standard of comparison which an Englishman would 
do well sometimes to leave behind him—even this was an 
almost lifeless scene. Many of the streets are so narrow 
that people could shake hands from opposite windows. Our 
wanderings led us frequently into long winding alleys of 
this description, where you walk between two rows of little 
shops (or rather stalls, for few of them possess glazed fronts), 
of which dirt, poverty, and the most perfect system of dis¬ 
order are the sole characteristics. And yet, on casting the 
eye upwards, your steps are again and again arrested by the 
multiplied remains of former opulence and grandeur—here 
the skeleton form of some fine old gateway ; there, the half 
obliterated tracery of a rude fresco, a style of external 
decoration that appears to have been much in vogue at one 
time; and again, the numerous specimens of exquisite 
carving about the overhanging roofs, either in the shape of 
cornices or brackets ;—so that often, where our first impulse 
was to rush by, and hasten into a purer atmosphere, our 
next was to stand and admire. 

In one part of the town we observed marks of decay, or 
rather of violence, belonging to a more recent date. Be¬ 
hind the old Doria Palace lay a large open space strewed 
with the debris of fallen houses, and on the white walls of 
those still standing were the shot marks of the revolutionists 
of ’49. 

The only interior we examined to-day was that of 
the cathedral, a singular combination of Moorish, Roman, 
and Gothic architecture. The exterior belongs mainly to the 
first of these, the most striking feature in it being the regular 
alternation of rows of black and white marble throughout. 



€ 


GENOA. 17 

The interior contains very little worthy of note. There are 
eight handsome spiral columns of flesh-coloured marble, 
dug from quarries near Nice; and in the way of relics, a 
picture of the Madonna and Child, by St. Luke (for which, 
considering the condition of art at that early period, the 
sacred historian certainly deserves immense credit), and the 
remains of John the Baptist in an iron sarcophagus, brought 
from the Holy Land in the eleventh century. 

Later in the evening, the Gaffe della Concordia , by its 
inviting aspect, tempted us within. It was nothing more 
nor less than an old palace metamorphosed into a cafe . The 
inner court, which is entered by a double flight of steps 
from the street, had been transformed into a small orange 
grove ; ripe fruit was hanging in abundance from the trees, 
beneath whose grateful shade, as well as under the verandah 
that ran round three sides of the court, a number of small 
marble tables were scattered for the accommodation of its 
frequenters. We remained long enough to drink a most deli¬ 
cious cup of chocolate, and listen to a few airs from an 
orchestra stationed at one end, and then returned to our ship. 
But there was a refreshing novelty and an Elysian kind of 
atmosphere about this cafe which rendered" :t peculiarly 
attractive, and raised it to a distinguished position in our 
recollection, which, for my own part, I may say, after a 
lapse of three years, it still retains. 

May 2nd .—We came away from our first day’s systematic 
lionising with something like a sensation of mental surfeit. 
It would be idle to attempt a description of one half even 
of all we have seen. I shall simply, therefore, note briefly, 
for the sake of any of my friends who may read this and 
visit the place afterwards, those objects which most interested 
us. And I will premise the fact that we were accompanied 
by one of those indispensable nuisances, a laquais de -place 
—indispensable, be it understood, only when time is short, 
or you are ignorant of the language. Ours was the former 
case. With regard to the latter, although the vernacular is 
a gibberish, unintelligible almost even to a genuine Italian, 
we met with few who were not tolerably conversant with 
French. A cicerone may often seem to be working too much 

c 



18 


.CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


for his own ends, without regard either to your purse or your 
commands ; hut, as a general rule, it is best to let him have 
his own way, so long as he keeps within reasonable bounds. 
Murray , in his introduction to “ Northern Italy,” gives an 
excellent recipe for the treatment of these men. The usual 
charge is five francs a day for a small party, and, in our 
case, the fees to the various servants and c ustodes did not cost 
more than four or five francs extra for each of us. 

Our guide conducted us from one object to another, appa¬ 
rently without any definite or pre-arranged plan. We took 
things as they came; so that palaces, churches, hospitals, 
and public gardens followed one another in promiscuous and 
rapid succession. Of this heterogeneous feast the most me¬ 
morable dishes are such as shall now be briefly specified. The 
Church of the Annunciata is that, perhaps, which left the 
most indelible impression. Externally its aspect is meagre 
and unpromising to a degree; but the threshold once crossed, 
we hardly knew how to express our delight at the dazzling 
splendour so unexpectedly revealed to us. The prevalence 
of green and gold in the decorations gives a tone of sur¬ 
passing richness and brilliancy to the whole; while by the 
judicious distribution of frescoes, paintings, and coloured 
glass, the general effect is agreeably tempered to the eye. 
Eight massive columns, each of one single solid block of 
marble, support the roof, and separate the nave from the 
aisles. But what more than all else astonishes an English¬ 
man is the fact, that all this magnificence is the creation of 
one single family—its cost, that is to say, defrayed by one 
purse. Nor is this by any means a solitary or exceptional 
instance, many such exist throughout Italy, though it is 
probably correct to say, that such a gigantic scale of private 
munificence belongs rather to an age when that country 
was, if not the wealthiest in Europe, at all events the most 
genial and successful home of the fine arts ; and it was but 
natural that so impulsive a power should occasionally over¬ 
step the bounds of moderation in a direction in which the 
highest sympathies of the people were already enlisted. In 
the present instance the family was one of the name of 
Lomellini, “formerly sovereigns of the island of Tabarca , off 



GENOA. 


19 


the north coast of Africa, which they held until 1741, when 
it was taken by the Bey of Tunis,” and they, I suppose, 
were allowed to escape with all their treasures, and to 
convert them into this splendid monument. 

Sant Ambrogio, or di Gesu, is also a very fine church, 
built entirely at the expense of the Pallavachini family, 
though not so gorgeous as the other. It contains Guido 
Beni’s famous picture of “The Assumption,” but we felt that 
we were not yet sufficiently familiar with this style of paint¬ 
ing properly to appreciate it. In the Albergo dei Poveri, 
or Hospital for the Poor (the best managed in Europe, 
and where between 3,000 and 4,000 men and women are 
maintained), is a most exquisite Pietd in marble by Michael 
Angelo—a head of the Saviour, that is to say, with a 
weeping figure of the Virgin bending over it. Forsyth 
says of it:—“The life and death which he has thrown 
into this little thing, the breathing tenderness of the 
Virgin, and the heavenly composure of the corpse, appeared 
to me beauties foreign to the tremendous genius of the 
artist.” 

In picture galleries Genoa is poor. The best are in the 
Palazzo Rosso, the Palazzo Pallavachini, and Palazzo Balbi. 
The latter has several of Vandyke’s best portraits, and some 
good figures by Guercino. 

The brothers Carloni are great in frescoes here, but their 
name is stained by the supposed perpetration of a deed, of 
which the bare recollection is sufficient to interfere seriously 
with a just appreciation of their truly meritorious works. 
A pupil of theirs, by name Pellegrino Piola, showed signs 
of such extraordinary talent at the early age of twenty-two 
that, through jealousy, they caused him to be assassinated. 
It is but fair, however, to state that other accounts differ as 
to the real instigators of this infamous act. There is a paint¬ 
ing by him on a tablet of stone, enclosed in a glass case, and 
let into the wall of the Strada degli Orefici (Goldsmiths’ 
Street). It represents the Holy Family. The features of 
the Virgin are touchingly beautiful, and the colouring is 
rich and harmonious throughout. It is, indeed, said to 
be the picture which, by the envy it caused, was mainly 








20 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


instrumental in bringing about the death of the painter. 
Napoleon, when here, very much wanted to remove it to 
the Louvre; but the goldsmiths, always a very important 
and independent fraternity, withstood him so firmly, and yet 
respectfully, that he yielded to their wishes, and it remained. 

The Grand Salon of the Palazzo Ducale is a sight that well 
repays the toil of the visitor in mounting a lofty flight of 
stone steps to reach it. Its dimensions are 130 feet long, 
55 broad, and 65 high. The numerous niches in the walls 
were formerly adorned with marble busts of the Doges of 
Genoa. These were consigned to destruction by the caprice 
of the revolutionists of ’97, and replaced, during a fete in 
honour of Napoleon, by a series of allegorical statues—if, at 
least, figures with plaster heads and bodies composed of straw 
and wicker-work may be considered as such. The white 
linen robes, however, with which all are clothed from the 
shoulders downwards, are so skilfully disposed, and approach 
so nearly to the tint of the plaster, that it is only on close 
inspection they are discovered to be of two materials. 

The general arrangement of the private palaces is much 
the same in all. A spacious vestibule, open to the street, 
and supported by marble columns, leads to a small inner 
court; and beyond this occasionally is a vista of orange groves 
and colonnades. On one side of the vestibule a handsome 
stone or marble staircase conducts to the apartments. These 
are usually large, but dingily and meagrely furnished. Of 
all which, the obvious conclusion to the passing stranger is, 
that to dazzle and bewilder by outward show is the under¬ 
lying principle of Genoese palatial architecture; though in 
churches the contrary seems to obtain. The entrance-hall 
and staircase of a palace belonging to a young nobleman 
of the Durazzo family are the most chaste and original 
I ever saw. The originality consists in one side being 
formed of the hard rock against which the palace is built, 
and which has been ingeniously smoothed, cut in panels, 
and coloured to represent marble. Several pillars of pure 
white marble, if I remember rightly, support the roof of the 
hall; and the staircase and balustrade, also of white marble, 
are embossed with gold, in designs of the most classical and 


GENOA. 


21 


refined description. It was barely completed wben we saw 
it; and we were told the interior, not then open to the 
public, was being re-decorated on a scale of similar elegance 
and good taste. 

More notable and interesting, however, than any of the 
afore-named is the Palazzo Doria—“del Principe” as it 
is sometimes called, from its having been given to the 
great Andrea Doria, to whom the Emperor Charles V. had 
accorded the distinguished title of “II Principe” and who 
for his bravery and wise administration was styled by 
the people “The Eather and Defender of his Country.” 
It is a glorious old pile of red brick; and with its gardens 
and terrace-walks stretching down to the sea, cypresses, 
oranges, fountains, statues, and vases, forms one of the most 
striking features in the panorama of Genoa from the port, 
and to the traveller approaching from the sea is usually one 
of the first objects about which his curiosity is excited. 
The descendants of the old Doge are still said to be nume¬ 
rous in Genoa, but as the elder branch of the family resides 
in Rome, the palace is generally let to strangers. We spent 
some little time in wandering from one to the other of many 
of its now deserted apartments; but were not so much struck 
as I believe we ought to have been with the paintings and 
decorations by which the unfortunate Pierino del Yaga ren¬ 
dered it so famous ; the best of them doubtless were in the 
rooms tenanted as residences. 

After this we ascended, by one of the many steep twisting 
lanes that intersect the hinder part of the city, to the Acqua 
Sola Gardens, a favourite and umbrageous promenade in 
sunny weather. Not far from this, on the same level, we 
visited the chateau and gardens of the Marquis de Negri; 
a genuine specimen of an Italian suburban residence. 
The long formal terraces, rising one above another in 
regular gradation, like so many benches of an amphi¬ 
theatre, greatly provoked us: but when our guide directed 
our attention to the pepper plant, the coffee tree, and 
various other exotics, growing in the open air, we began 
to feel more interest in what was around us. The cir¬ 
cuitous and labyrinthine nature of these gardens is such 





22 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


that the town, harbour, and surrounding country might 
be seen from seven distinct points of view, assuming from 
each quite a different aspect. Prom one of these a rural 
villa, occupied for some time by Lord Byron, was pointed 
out to us. 

We brought this bewildering day to a close at the Carlo 
Felice Theatre, the third largest in Italy, horseshoe shape, 
six tiers of boxes, and considerably larger than Covent 
Garden. We occupied seats in the pit, price 2fr. only each. 
The programme consisted of a few scenes from the opera of 
“ Atila,” followed by a dumb-show and a ballet. The last 
was very superior to the ballets one sees in England. The 
piece of dumb-show, too, being a style of acting peculiar to 
Italy, took our fancy immensely. The Italians appear to 
have created for themselves a language of signs and gestures, 
which, though not so copious as the written one, is, so far as 
it goes, equally intelligible. On the present occasion, 
although we may have lost much of the point and wit of the 
piece from an imperfect acquaintance with semiotics , or the 
science of signs, the plot was perfectly clear to us. It 
is in Naples, we are told, that this kind of pantomime is 
carried to the greatest perfection. The first part of the 
entertainment, the scenes from “Atila,” would have been 
very uninteresting indeed but for an amusing little incident 
which interrupted it about half way. It appears that those 
gorgeous little round balloons which have been the delight 
of every nursery in England for the last few months, have 
just arrived thus far south ; and the speculative individual, 
at whose invitation they came, thought the theatre doubtless 
the most fitting place for a debut. He intended probably to 
have introduced them to the public between the acts; but 
the monotony and wretched execution of the first piece 
changed his plans I suppose; for, before it was half over, up 
went half a dozen of these little air balls with paper cars 
attached to them. Up to the ceiling they went like shots. 
The audience immediately expressed their delight at this 
diversion by forgetting the stage altogether, and putting 
themselves into a tremendous excitement; they shouted, 
and whistled, and waved their hats about, till the whole 




GENOA. 


23 


house was in a state of the most glorious confusion, the 
actors even stopping to look on at the fun. In a short time 
one of the machines decided on coming down again; the 
excitement rose higher; it was blown and buffeted about 
from one to the other, till at last a gentleman sitting close 
to us managed to secure it and detach the car, which 
sent it back again with wonderful celerity to its original 
position. A universal shout of course followed this; and 
then, as all the rest, with the exception of one, had been 
caught by the people in the gallery, and that one showed 
no disposition to be taken prisoner, the performance was 
allowed to proceed. The applause, when there was any, 
seemed to come chiefly from the parterre, whose habitues 
bring with them small shrill whistles, with which to express 
their approbation—a highly objectionable practice, as it 
appeared to us, and one which, coupled with a constant 
chattering, precludes all enjoyment of the play; though 
when there is any real merit in the acting, I imagine they are 
sufficiently good judges to observe something like decency 
and decorum. 

In the inhabitants of Genoa we remarked nothing to dis¬ 
tinguish them particularly from the mixed class common to 
most seafaring towns, beyond the prevalence of the dark 
moustache and tawny complexion natural to a southern 
clime. The female portion—the few we saw, that is to say 
—were, with rare exceptions, excessively plain. Among the 
lower orders, however, there was really some compensation 
for this in the exceeding neatness and prettiness of the head¬ 
dress. It consists of a long broad sash or band of white 
muslin, well starched, carried high up over the head, brought 
down obliquely on either side of the face, crossed over the 
breast, and each end allowed to fall considerably below 
the waist. The cleanliness and simplicity of this ornament 
contrasted strangely with the sombre ornateness of the most 
frequented streets. The priests are very numerous; up¬ 
wards of 500 in a population of 140,000. You meet them 
everywhere—in the streets, ca,fes , and public walks; their 
long coats and odd-looking round black hats render them 
very conspicuous. There is also a large convent of Fran- 



24 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


ciscan monks, who show themselves everywhere, and, with 
their long, ugly, brown-hooded cloaks (positively the only 
garment they wear), and their unintellectual, I had almost 
said brutish, physiognomies, made us involuntarily shrink 
as we passed them, and commiserate the poor creatures 
whose spiritual concerns are entrusted to them. We saw 
a great many soldiers (mere boys, most of them) who 
had been in the Crimea; nearly all had the war medal. 
Several could speak a little French or English, and appeared 
delighted when we pointed to their medals and spoke of 
the late campaign. We noticed also a few of the galley- 
slaves in red clothes. The galleys no longer exist, but the 
men are employed about the public works in the town. 
We went back to our ship for night-quarters, not forgetting 
to take away with us a sample or two of the gold and silver 
filigree work, for which the Genoese are so famous. 


CHAPTER III. 

LEGHOKN AND LUCCA. 

May 3rd. — Weighed anchor at 6 A.M., and entered the 
new mole of Leghorn at 3 p.m. This town is noted as being 
the cleanest and most modern in Italy; it has, in fact, much 
the appearance of a respectable English watering - place, 
with no lack of shipping; the prevalence of white houses 
and green shutters classing it with those which we have 
copied from French models. As a sea-port it takes its stand 
among the first in the Mediterranean; and from the extent 
and alleged capacity of the new harbour, now nearly com¬ 
pleted, one would suppose it aimed at being second to none. 
The population is about 80,000, of whom a tenth part are 
Jews. We went on shore at half-past 3 to report ourselves 
at the police office. They take our passports from us, and 
give us a receipt, on which is stamped “gratis,” and yet 
they have the audacity to demand a fee of 2 pauls —lid. 



LEGHORN AND LTJCCA. 


25 


We ask an explanation, and are told briefly, “It’s the 
law of the country;” but afterwards discover, from the 
ship’s agent, that it is simply an imposition on the part of 
the town to pay for a w T orkhouse they are building; at 
which we wax very wrath, but having set out with a deter¬ 
mination to be the mcfst mild and amiable of travellers, and 
to show, at least, that all Englishmen are not bullies, 
we reserved our. indignation for some weightier occasion, 
which, as the sequel will show, was not long in presenting 
itself. 

Not ill-calculated for this indeed was the new feature of 
Italian life introduced to us immediately after leaving the 
police office, although it was not on this precise occasion 
that we allowed our wrath to explode. The annoyance to 
to which we were now subjected had been spared us at Genoa 
by the kind offices of the hotel-keeper; but here, left entirely 
to our own resources, we seemed to be the legitimate victims 
of an omnivorous race of beings, scarcely known in England, 
but extremely populous in many parts of the Continent. 
Maritime towns, of all others, are their favourite haunt; in 
these they literally swarm, their sole avocation being to tell 
falsehoods, fleece strangers, and live upon the proceeds. The 
moment the bewildered traveller plants his feet upon the 
shore, they pounce down upon him like a little colony of 
harpies, deafen him with their vociferations, and drive him 
half distracted by their unflagging importunity. They 
ply their craft under various disguises. You have commis¬ 
sioners from half the hotels, each vaunting jhis own above 
all the rest; valets-de-place, dying to serve you after their 
own peculiar fashion; proprietors of various small estab¬ 
lishments, soliciting your patronage; voituriers , ready to 
carry you anywhere for anything; and little gamins, not 
simply asking permission, but positively snatching from you 
any loose piece of property in the shape of an umbrella, a 
great coat, or small bag, which they will insist on carrying 
till you arrive at your destination; add to this the general 
hubbub and confusion usually prevailing at such a time, and 
you have some idea of the startling novelty of our situa¬ 
tion. A determined bearing on our part, however, with 





26 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

every now and then a ferocious “Non!” from my com¬ 
panion, freed us at length from the attacks even of the most 
indefatigable. In due time, by dint of numerous inquiries, 
we contrived to thread our way through the town, to the 
English chapel. 

It was a great treat, after the ordeal we had just gone 
through, to feel ourselves once more among our own 
countrymen, although out of the forty or fifty assembled 
there were none we recognised, and we were too late to 
derive any spiritual benefit from the sermon. Another 
source of calm enjoyment and delight was the cheerful little 
Protestant burial-ground just opposite the chapel. Here 
the Vice-consul kindly pointed out to us two or three of the 
most notable monuments, one of which was that of Smollett 
the historian—an elegant little obelisk, with the following 
inscription on the pedestal:—‘ ‘ Memoriae Tobice Smollett , 
qui Liburni animam efflavit, 16 Sept., 1773, quidam ex suis 
valde amicis, civibus , hunc tumulum fecerunt .” I am sorry 
to be obliged to add that it has lately been surrounded by 
an iron railing to protect it from the sacrilegious hands of 
his relic-hunting countrymen. In this peaceful corner we 
would willingly have lingered for the remainder of the day, 
and we could heartily echo the sentiment of the author of 
“Villette” on a similar occasion, “Where all is stone 
around, blank wall, and hot pavement, how precious seems 
one shrub, how lovely an enclosed and planted spot of 
ground! ” but the gate-keeper was getting impatient, so 
we reluctantly left, and returned at an early hour to the 
ship. 

May Mh .—Spent the morning on board, preparing letters 
for the post. At dinner the captain informed us that, in con¬ 
sequence of having a large quantity of cargo to ship, we 
should not leave the port till Wednesday afternoon. Here 
was a grant of two whole days. Leghorn itself seemed to 
present no very great attractions, and the interesting old 
towns of Pisa and Lucca, being within an hour’s ride by rail, 
we could not but run out and take a peep at them ; especially 
as we might not have the opportunity in travelling north¬ 
wards overland by-and-by. We reached Pisa about 5 o’clock, 


LEGHORN AND LUCCA. 


2 1 


and intended to have spent the night there; but it was so 
late to begin sight-seeing, and the begging farce was renewed 
here with such increased activity, that in order to economise 
time, and escape immediate persecution, we marched straight 
through the town to the other station, and proceeded by a 
train at half-past 5 to Lucca, where we arrived half an hour 
later. 

Having no luggage with us, instead of wasting time by 
casting about for night quarters, we made the most of the 
precious daylight that remained by strolling leisurely through 
the streets, and taking a hasty peep at everything that came 
in our way. Lucca once rejoiced in the distinguishing epi¬ 
thet of “ the industrious,” but its claim to such a title has 
long since departed, unless traces of it may still be said to 
remain in the highly cultivated condition of the surrounding 
s country. Its streets have a deserted and lifeless aspect— 
large, stately mansions look lone and tenantless, and others 
have been transformed into large hotels, whose proprietors 
derive a scanty subsistence from the passing visits of the few 
English and other families who repair, during the summer 
season, to the Lucca baths. 

We entered the old Cathedral just as twilight was steal¬ 
ing over it. The vastness of its proportions, the massive 
columns, and the wide-spreading Norman arches, impressed 
me with sensations altogether new. In our St. Paul’s, tho 
immensity of the enclosed area, added to the prodigious height 
of the dome and the unobstructed view of it, leaves the mind 
free to wander and expand at will. In Westminster Abbey, 
the eye roams with a restless and ever-increasing activity 
over the whole building; and, as it flits from one object to 
another—from the stately marble statue up to the delicate 
tracery of the more elevated parts—the mind continues to 
feast without restraint upon the succession of ideas suggested 
to it, and is only thrown back upon itself when the eye is 
tired of gazing. Here, on the contrary—and, in our case, the 
deepening shades of evening probably favoured the illusion 
—some secret influence seemed to check every impulse of the 
eye to soar. It is true that near the roof, in many parts, were 
marvellous specimens of Gothic carving; but how approach. 






28 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


them when those stupendous examples of Lombard art inter¬ 
vened ! It was no use trying; each effort was crushed at the 
outset by the overwhelming weight of those arches. They 
seemed to hang over one’s head like the embodiment of some 
evil principle. There lies the good and the beautiful beyond— 
you get a faint glimpse of it every now and then, but the 
struggles to reach it are powerless beneath that superincum¬ 
bent mass of dark deformity, and the spirit yields a sullen 
submission to the pressure of an incubus which leaves no 
other alternative. Many of the stained-glass windows here 
are exceedingly fine—so rich in tone, and the figures so 
perfect. 

Darkness had now come on, and most of the churches 
were more or less illuminated: we gathered, indeed, from 
the appearance of three or four into which we had suc¬ 
cessively entered, that it was one of “ Our Lady’s” special 
/<?£e-days. In one there was a procession of priests and 
choristers, and some good chanting ; in others, all the 
lights were clustered thickly upon and about the central 
altar-piece, leaving the remainder of the building in total 
darkness. In a niche above the altar was a 'resplendent 
figure of the Virgin, clothed in a robe of white satin, and 
holding an Infant in her arms. To her were being directed 
the prayers and genuflexions of the faithful. And it is a fact, 
painful to a “ heretic ” to observe, that the Madonna is, to the 
outward eye at least, the chief object of worship. At the 
high altar she appears to share, at least equally, the homage 
due to her Son alone; and her own peculiar shrine is, if 
not the most frequented, at all events that to which the 
greatest odour of sanctity attaches, and at which the most 
absorbed and genuine devotion may be witnessed. Her 
effigy, too, generally enclosed in a glass case, may be seen 
high up on the wall at most of the salient angles in the 
principal thoroughfares of the city; while the Saviour 
figures rarely otherwise than as a child in arms. These little 
madonnas—which sometimes are only rude specimens of 
fresco-painting—were lit up this evening with candles and 
oil lamps; but, as we saw no bending of the knee before 
them, it may be charitably hoped they are intended rather as 


LEGHORN AND LUCCA. 


29 


aids to reflection and self-examination than as objects of ex¬ 
ternal adoration. 

We took up our night-quarters at the Hotel de V Univers, 
finding it recommended by Murray as a moderate one. On 
asking for a “ chambre a deux lits ,” we were shown into a 
magnificent apartment, 27 feet square ; eight fine old paint¬ 
ings adorned the walls, the four corners of the room were 
graced by four statues on lofty pedestals, the ceiling and 
cornices were chastely gilt, and the few necessary articles of 
furniture were on a proportionate scale of grandeur. We 
ventured to intimate that our requirements were far less pre¬ 
tentious ; but the man assured us all the rooms were alike, 
the house having been formerly a nobleman’s palace; and 
as he only charged us at the reasonable rate of 2 francs each, 
we made no further objection, but asked to be called at 6 
r in the morning, in order to start by 7 for the famous 
Baths of Lucca. 

May 5th. —This is the day for the opening of the great 
Manchester Exhibition, and yet we feel that the witnessing 
a dozen such events would not be productive of one-half the 
enjoyment we have had to-day among the simple beauties of 
nature—in the genuine freshness of our sensations, and the 
novelty of all we see about us. New ideas keep crowding in 
upon us so fast and thick, that it is a wonder satiety and 
apathy do not ensue; yet such is not the case, our appetite 
is continually on the increase ; the more we have set before 
us the more we feel ready to devour • beauty and variety, 
in short, are now the charm and the very essence of our 
life. 

Punctually as the clock struck 7 we started in an open car¬ 
riage with two horses for those celebrated old Boman baths 
—the Baths of Lucca—a drive of fifteen miles. Our road 
lay first of all along the crown of a steep embankment, 
raised to protect the citizens of Lucca from the aggressive 
propensities of the river Serchio, which used to be con¬ 
tinually flooding the town. For this barrier the inhabitants 
have to thank the provident genius of the Princess Elisa, of 
whose fruitful reign at the beginning of the present century 
this is only one out of many reminiscences. A long avenue 

. 







30 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


of lofty ash. trees followed, and then we emerged upon the 
lovely valley of the Serchio. Now the hills began to approach 
and put a limit to the view—first, modestly, by gentle undu¬ 
lating slopes, covered with the vine and the olive; then 
more boldly, steep and rugged, and clothed only with scanty 
vegetation ; while every now and then some intrusive little 
rock would come right up to the road, and knit his brow over 
our very heads, tiny rivulets of tears trickling down from 
every pore, and the golden blossom of the laburnum waving 
like a plume of feathers from his naked front. Wild flowers 
in great variety appear as if growing out of the bare stone, 
and many a familiar home specimen met our eye. It is said, 
indeed, that almost all the British flora may be found in this 
valley. Occasionally the hills recede, and disclose a smiling 
plain of richly cultivated land. Luxuriant crops of long red 
clover prevail just now, and give quite a tone to the land¬ 
scape ; the vine, too, is already beginning to respond to the 
promptings of the inner life, and to send forth its green shoots, 
which the cultivator carries from one support to another, until 
a whole field becomes a perfect network of vine twigs. There 
are various methods of training the vine, but this seems 
to be in most general use here—viz., the stem is planted 
beside larger trees grown for the purpose (frequently a cherry 
or other fruit tree), which are scattered at equal distances 
over the field. When it reaches that part of the tree where 
the branches begin to project, its progress upwards is checked, 
and it is carried along horizontally to an adjacent trunk—an 
interval of about 20 feet—and so on throughout the field. 
We wandered in thought to the season of vintage. Only 
fancy the effect of the purple grape hanging in rich clusters 
from such a leafy canopy as this arrangement necessarily 
produces ! It must be something perfectly Elysian and in¬ 
describable. A wayworn traveller on a dusty road, panting 
and half-broiled beneath the midday sun of a tropical sky, 
parched with thirst, and ready to sink with languor and ex¬ 
haustion—convey such a man speedily to where the foliage 
lies thickest in an Italian vineyard, offer to his burning 
tongue the pure juice of the grape, newly-gathered from the 
stalk, and if, as he revives, he does not tell you he has been 


LEGHORN AND LTJCCA. 


31 


in paradise, I will not undertake to call anything paradisaical 
again. 

A novelty to us in the way of implements was a very 
primitive-looking spade, the sole substitute, I believe, for 
our all-important plough. Either the allotments are so 
small, or the soil isof so soft a nature, I suppose, as to render 
the latter instrument superfluous. The said spade is a weapon 
in the form of a huge elongated heart; a small piece of wood, 
four or five inches long, projects from the handle just above 
the blade, as a rest for the foot when driving it home. In fact, 
specimens from Pompeii, now in the Neapolitan Museum, 
prove that precisely the same implement was in use at least 
a century before Christ. 

As we pass through the numerous small villages that line 
the road, we notice an air of untidiness and dilapidation 
about most of the houses, to which as yet we find it difficult 
to become reconciled. About half-way between Lucca and 
the baths, we drove through a magnificent forest of chest¬ 
nuts, which, as our coachman assured us, and we could 
well believe him, afforded in the summer “ una ombra bel- 
lissima This sweet-sounding language grows upon us 
wonderfully; in fact, I am enchanted with it, and, unlike 
most things you set your heart on, it does not seem diffi¬ 
cult to acquire. Our coachey is a jolly old fellow, and 
is evidently highly amused at our inquisitiveness, as, with 
dictionary and phrase-book in hand, we stand up in the 
vehicle and pester him with all sorts of bewildering in¬ 
quiries. These chestnuts, we learn, are eaten principally 
by the poor people when transformed into a flat cake, having 
been first baked in the oven, and then ground to flour; this 
cake is much cheaper than wheaten bread, and perhaps more 
nutritious, but very heavy. 

As we neared our destination, the little river came more 
frequently into view—now rolling smoothly, or with a gentle 
ripple, along its pebbly bed, and now dashing over the 
rocky boulders that stood in its way with all the impetuosity 
of a mountain torrent. Often it ran parallel for a long dis¬ 
tance with the road, and was crossed here and there by a 
variety of small rustic bridges, any one of which would have 





32 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


formed a charming subject for a pocket sketch-book. The 
exceeding quaintness of one of them pleased us greatly. It 
consisted of five arches, the centre one being at least four or 
five times as high as any of the rest; so that the whole con¬ 
cern ran up like the two sides of an isosceles triangle, with 
an angle of 45°, or thereabouts, at the apex; and, as a 
natural consequence, the structure is too tender to bear the 
weight of anything heavier than a human being. We 
elicited from our oracle on the box, that the peasants call it 
“ 11 Ponte del Diavolo ,” firmly believing that his Satanic 
majesty, if not the veritable architect, had at least a hand in 
the design. 

Shortly after 9 o’clock we entered Ponte a Serraglio —one 
of the three or four little mountain villages about which the 
baths lie scattered—and drew up at the Hotel de VEurope. 
Signor Pagnani, the landlord—a hale, hearty old fellow, who 
speaks several languages fluently, has an English wife, and 
owns all the best hotels in the place—came out to receive us. 
He immediately, at our request, drew out the plan of a 
ramble over the hills, which would occupy us an hour and a 
half, and take in the best points of view. The weather was 
most propitious. Yesterday’s showers had cleared the air, 
and made nature look fresh, and bright, and jubilant. We lost 
no time in mounting the hill at the back of the hotel; and 
as we wound up the zigzag path, and turned at every corner 
to glance back for a moment on the result of our toil, our 
exclamations of delight at the lovely bits of scenery which 
kept opening up to us were both frequent and unqualified. 
Arrived at the summit, we were able to take a review of 
the whole district for miles round. Looking in the direction 
from which we had come, there were the little villages and 
bath-houses immediately beneath; farther along the valley, 
the confluence of the Lima and the Serchio, and then the 
frothy track of their mingled waters through a fertile plain ; 
right and left of us, steep hills, like the one we had ascended, 
blocking up the vale; and, far away to the extreme right, a 
palpable vision of the central Apennines, where clouds and 
snow seemed vieing with each other for possession of their 
summits. We are now in the full blaze of sunlight, and 



PISA. 


33 


yet, to the inhabitants of the little hamlets below, the solar 
rays have scarcely yet penetrated, so buried are they among 
the hills. The day to them is three or four hours shorter 
than to the people of the plain, and vegetation propor¬ 
tionately backward. 

On our return to the hotel we found a mineral bath ready 
for us; which, as it was one of the least offensive to the 
olfactory nerves, we thoroughly enjoyed; and to the appetite 
engendered thereby gave plenary indulgence, with reference 
to a certain tureenful of macaroni, which the thoughtfulness of 
our landlord meanwhile had provided for us. Neither before 
nor after did we ever taste anything of its kind so delicious; 
butter and Parmesan cheese were the only foreign elements 
introduced, but the macaroni was twice the ordinary thick¬ 
ness, and probably of a very superior quality—not to mention, 
besides, the great experience and deserved reputation of the 
cook. 

We regained Lucca about 2 P.M., paid our reckoning at 
the hotel; strolled observantly through the town; drank 
a glass of liqueur on the site of an ancient amphitheatre, 
and returned to Pisa by the 3.25 train. 


CHAPTER IV. 

PISA. 

In this city, as a matter of course, the first thing we did was 
to rush to the Leaning Tower, the Cathedral, the Baptistery, 
and the Campo Santo —a group of buildings which all travellers 
allow to be one of the most interesting in the world : but 
as a description of them belongs rather to the province of 
the antiquary, the artist, or the classical scholar, I intend 
my own account to be chiefly remarkable for brevity. 

Conceive our disappointment on being told, as we pre¬ 
sented ourselves before the first of these—the Campanile , or 
Bell-Tower—that there was no possibility of our ascending 

D 



34 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


it that day; that the conservatore, I think they called him, 
had left earlier than nsnal that afternoon, and lived out in 
the country, and he was the only individual empowered to 
give an order. And even had he been there, another ob¬ 
stacle might have sprung up from the enforcement of a law 
which requires that not fewer than four persons shall go up 
together, and we were only two; yet even that might have 
been overcome by taking our guide for one, and any little 
organ-grinder for another—and, of course, paying for them. 
Not long since, some wretched foreigner—an Englishman, 
it is said, by-the-bye—is supposed to have got such a twisting 
of the brain in the corkscrew ascent, that he thought to 
continue his gyrations beyond the masonry; an attempt 
which, it is needless to observe, cut short his career on the 
pavement below; and it was to obviate the repetition of a 
similar tragedy that the above regulation was made. The 
height of the tower is about 180 feet, and the diameter at 
the base 50 feet. The accounts given of its singular appear¬ 
ance are various; but the most probable one seems to be, 
that, being built on soil of a soft and yielding nature, it 
must gradually have sunk on one side, and the eighth story, 
which looks almost upright, may be presumed to have been 
afterwards added, to counterbalance in a measure its acci¬ 
dental position. The largest of the seven bells also is so 
placed in this upper story as greatly to assist in counter¬ 
acting the leaning tendency. The one at Bologna , and many 
others throughout Italy, may probably be accounted for in 
the same way. The volcanic nature of the soil, I think, 
might also be allowed its due weight in solving the diffi¬ 
culty ; but to say that buildings so inelegant and unsafe were 
constructed thus originally, simply to gratify the caprice of 
an architect, seems absurd. 

I might mention, as a strong argument in favour of the 
former supposition, that in one of the pictures in the Campo 
Santo, painted one hundred years after the first seven stories 
of this Tower of Pisa was completed, it is represented as 
upright. And if further proof were wanting, it might be 
found in the Cathedral itself, where, such has been the effect 
of the settling process, that the edifice seems to have 


PISA. 


35 


scarcely a straight or upright line about it. It is, notwith¬ 
standing, a remarkable specimen of the architecture of the 
middle ages, designed by Busketus, an architect whose 
paternity, whether Grecian or Italian, is much disputed. 
The first stone was laid in 1067, on the return of the Pisans 
from a gloriously successful campaign in Sicily against the 
Saracens. Pull of gratitude to the Almighty for this signal 
mark of his favour, and loaded with the treasures of the con¬ 
quered, they resolved to perpetuate both the substance and 
the idea in one splendid dedicatory monument. No expense, 
therefore, was spared in the construction and adornment of 
the church, until it was regarded as one of the marvels 
of the world; when one fine day, in the year 1596, through 
the carelessness of some plumbers who were at work on the 
roof, a fire broke out which destroyed the original dome, and 
damaged more or less the whole edifice ; since which period 
it has never recovered its pristine beauty. Among other 
prodigies of art lost in the fire were some magnificent bronze 
gates, and a richly-carved pulpit—the latter by Giovanni di 
Pisa, a name great in the history of sculpture. Three small 
statues of this pulpit were saved, and still form part of the 
present one. The gates were replaced in a highly creditable 
manner by others from the designs of Giovanni di Bologna, 
also a great name in art. Models of these in plaster were 
sent to our Crystal Palace in 1851. The Cathedral has a 
multitude of paintings and mosaics, many of them of con¬ 
siderable merit—the best by Andrea del Sarto, Benvenuto, 
and Luini. The high altar is a gorgeous pile of rich marbles, 
but surcharged with ornament to an almost repulsive degree. 
Some of the side altars are exceedingly beautiful; the most 
interesting is that of St. Kanieri, the protector of the town. 
He was one of the early Crusaders, and on his return to his 
native city, finding a plague raging in it, he went among 
the people, and by virtue of some healing remedy he had 
brought with him, effected an immense number of miracu¬ 
lous cures. Four different stages of his career are repre¬ 
sented in very good pictures on the walls of the chapel; 
and in an old marble sarcophagus, brought from the Holy 
Land, and placed at the back of the altar, his ashes are 


36 


CONTINENTAL "WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


preserved. Once everj T three years a grand fete is given in 
his honour, which brings thousands of strangers from all 
parts; there is one this year (1857) on the 10th of May. The 
decorations of the cathedral alone cost the town £5,000— 
this, however, on the authority of our guide only. 

Staggi, a pupil of Michael Angelo, is the artist who has 
contributed most to the sculptural and mural embellishments. 
A profusion of grotesque figures are scattered over the walls 
both within and without—Bacchanals, Satyrs, and an inde¬ 
scribable variety of birds and animals. What end such 
incongruous objects were intended to serve it is difficult to 
conjecture; but I must say I like Forsyth’s suggestion that 
they were “ a pious decoy to the contemplation of the cross.” 
From the centre of the nave is suspended a large bronze 
lamp, the swinging to and fro of which is well known to 
have helped Galileo to his theory of the pendulum. A few 
paces behind the cathedral is the Baptistery, a structure 
similar in size and form to our Badcliffe Library at Oxford. 
Its chief fault seems to me to lie in the superabundance of 
columns and arches piled one on the top of the other; the 
same peculiarity, too, is equally striking in the cathedral; 
not content with having them in the body of the building, 
they are introduced into the walls, which gives one the idea 
of a house several stories high, whereof the floors have 
been suddenly removed and only the panellings left to 
show where one stoiy ended and another began. The 
interior possesses but one very noteworthy object, viz., the 
pergamo, or pulpit, by Nicolo Pisano, a man who stands in 
the first rank of Italian sculptors. Its form is hexagonal, 
and the panels are adorned with a wonderful series of bas- 
reliefs representing incidents in the life of our Saviour. The 
son and grandson of this artist, Giovanni and Tomaso Pisano, 
have also left some very creditable performances both in the 
Cathedral and the Campo Santo. The latter was the last of 
this instructive group we visited, and verily did we find it 
the most interesting. Its origin was in this wise :—Towards 
the end of the twelfth century a certain worthy Archbishop, 
Ubaldo by name, was engaged in the Holy Land, either as a 
Crusader, or on some other important business; when happen- 


PISA. 


37 

ing to fall in, or fall out perhaps, with Saladin, that stern 
prince dismissed him, and bid him go seek renown in the land 
he came from—a hint of which the holy prelate was by no 
means slow to take advantage. For, not liking to return 
empty-handed I suppose, he contrived to pilfer from Mount 
Calvary a sufficient quantity of earth to fill fifty-three 
vessels, and with this precious cargo he set sail for the land 
of his birth. Arrived at Pisa, which was then almost on the 
seashore, he deposited the sacred treasure in the precincts of 
the city, had it enclosed, and called it Campo Santo (Holy 
Field) a name which has since been given to all large burial- 
grounds throughout Italy. Ubaldo has not had his due, 
however, until I record that this wonderful mould had 
the peculiar property of decomposing within twenty-four 
hours any dead bodies that were bulled in it; and it were 
pity to soil the fame of the Archbishop by any sceptical 
suggestions. 

The present low Gothic structure, which surrounds the 
enclosure in the form of a quadrilateral corridor, was not 
erected till a century later by John of Pisa. It now forms a 
museum of sepulchral antiquities and curiosities such as no 
other place in the world, I suppose, can boast. Old Roman and 
Etruscan sarcophagi lay strewn beneath the walls in almost 
countless variety—many of them having been brought from 
neighbouring churches and ruins to serve as tombs for the 
Pisan nobility : and considering that not a few of these still 
betray their pagan origin in some peculiarity of shape, or in 
the heathen deities and other fanciful devices with which their 
sides and roofs are embellished, we must allow the Pisans 
some little credit for religious tolerance. The wall at one 
end of the cloister is literally crammed with monumental 
tablets and effigies; broken bits of marble columns, muti¬ 
lated images, and other relics of the old cathedral appear in 
odd corners ; the very pavement on which you tread is com¬ 
posed of slabs of white marble covered with inscriptions; and 
the three remaining walls are adorned with frescoes, the 
subjects of which are mostly taken from the vagaries of 
Dante or the “Lives of the Saints.” We felt, in short, 
that to effect a comfortable digest of this museum would 


3S CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

require several weeks, if not months. Beckford, in his 
“Italy,” has given such a true description of it that I 
cannot forbear quoting one short paragraph. He says:— 
‘ ‘ I was quite seized by the strangeness of the place, and 
paced fifty times round and round the old cloisters, dis¬ 
covering at every turn some odd novelty. "When tired I 
seated myself on a fair slab of giallo antico that looked a 
little cleaner than its neighbours (which I only mention to 
identify the precise point of view), and looking through the 
filigreed tracery of the arches, observed the domes of the 
cathedral, cupola of the baptistery, and roof of the leaning 
tower rising above the leads, and forming the strangest 
assemblage of pinnacles perhaps in Europe. The place is 
neither sad nor solemn ; the arches are airy, the pillars light, 
and there is so much caprice, such an exotic look in the 
whole scene, that without any violent effort of fancy one 
might imagine one’s self in fairyland. Every object is new, 
every ornament original; the mixture of antique sarcophagi 
with Gothic sepulchres completes the vagaries of the pro¬ 
spect to which, one day or other, I think of returning to 
hear visionary music and commune with spirits, for I shall 
never find in the whole universe besides so whimsical a 
theatre.” 

There is one object suspended from the wall of the west 
ambulatory, which, as it is intimately connected with the 
past history of the town, I ought just to mention. I mean 
the chain that formerly stretched across the harbour as a 
barrier to keep out armed vessels, and which, together 
with 1,500 Pisans and the Port of Pisa, was delivered into 
the hands of the Genoese by a certain Count Ugolino, in 
the year 1362. For this little bit of treachery he was 
locked up in a tower (which our guide afterwards pointed 
out to us in the city), and the key thrown into the river. 
The tower was opened again forty years afterwards, when of 
course only a skeleton remained. The chain was shared 
between the Genoese and the Florentines, who had made 
common cause against the Pisans. The Florentines returned 
their portion during the general reconciliation of 1848, as a 
“ pledge and a sign of a new era,” as the inscription beneath 


PISA. 


39 


informs us; and the Genoese have just now (May, 1860), 
somewhat tardily, followed the example. As we were leav¬ 
ing, the guide drew our attention to some beautiful coloured 
photographs of the frescoes which Mr. Layard was having 
prepared for presentation to her Majesty. As a study of the 
progress of art in North Italy they will doubtless make a 
most valuable and interesting collection, since the originals 
were painted at various epochs; but some of the earlier 
pictures have suffered so severely, as regards colour, from 
long exposure to the air, that the artist will have to draw 
largely upon his imagination to give them entire. 

The University of Pisa is second only to that of Pavia , 
but has rapidly declined of late, owing, it is said, to a 
misunderstanding with the Grand Duke, who wished to 
interfere with its privileges in some way; and, to avenge 
himself for the opposition he met with, transferred the 
important faculties of law and philosophy to Sienna. The 
religious tolerance of the Pisans already hinted at is here 
again exemplified in their throwing the University open to 
members of any creed under the sun. Our last visit was to 
the studio of a celebrated artist in alabaster, where each of 
us bought a model of the Leaning Tower. 

We reached Leghorn at 8 o’clock that same evening. And 
now it was that an occasion presented itself, which, notwith¬ 
standing our previous resolution to the contrary, compelled 
us, malgre nous, to stand upon our dignity as a couple of 
English travellers. Arrived at the port-gate, we naturally 
supposed we should be allowed to go on board ship for the 
night. We had done so at a much later hour at Genoa, and 
there was no reason to look for an obstacle here. A suffi¬ 
ciently formidable one nevertheless did present itself in the 
shape of a pompous unimpressionable little sentinel, who 
believed in nothing so much as that nobody was to pass those 
gates after half-past 7 o’clock in the evening; and when we 
began gently to demur, three officers and several of his 
comrades came out of the guard-house to support him. I 
felt far more disposed, I confess, to yield to the force of 
circumstances, than to make what I conceived would be a 
useless demonstration. But not so my friend. This little 



40 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


show of authority only roused his sense of the injustice ot 
the thing; and so, after a little mock argument, in which I 
do not believe either party understood half a dozen words of 
what the other said, we determined to go direct to the 
governor. Such a stupid regulation could only have its 
origin in some unholy compact between these petty officials 
and the innkeepers, for their own mutual advantages and 
the discomfiture of strangers ; and to expose the villainy of 
such a system would be at least an act of charity towards 
future travellers. To the house of the great man, therefore, 
we went; but when there, so imposing and palatial was its 
appearance, and so stern the aspect of the moustachioed 
automaton in the sentry-box, that we felt awed for the moment 
at the boldness of our undertaking. A sense of justice and 
oppression prevailed however. We crossed the threshold, 
traversed a spacious hall, and were passed on from one 
apartment to another by the clerks who were writing in 
them, till we found ourselves in the presence of a solitary 
individual who did not look a bit like a governor—a sus¬ 
picion moreover which we did not hesitate to make known in 
the civilest way our limited knowledge of the language would 
permit. It was not possible, he said, to see the governor then ; 
and as to the object of our visit, he could assure us in a very 
few words that the law we found so obnoxious was a perfectly 
well-regulated one, and must not be infringed even by the 
most high and mighty in the land. We had the worst of the 
argument, that was clear; but it was some satisfaction to 
have made the protest; and this, no doubt, it was that gave 
us a relish even for the very equivocal-looking dish we had 
for supper, no less than for the coarse bed-linen at a small 
inn, not remarkable for cleanliness, where we slept. 

May 6.—Eose early, and went to see the Synagogue—one 
of the largest and handsomest in the world. There was 
already a considerable muster of Israelites, who, with hat on 
head, and book in hand, were shouting out their devotional 
exercises in what seemed to us a very undevotional manner, 
the object of each individual being apparently to outdo his 
neighbour. The Jew never uncovers in church—it would 
be a heinous sin. 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


41 


We got back to our ship in time for breakfast, and then 
went with the captain to see over the Susquehannah, a large 
American war frigate, anchored close to us. She was the 
perfection of order and cleanliness, in spite of some fifty or 
sixty huge spittoons scattered all over the deck, and in con¬ 
stant use. There was a crew of 300 men, and the average 
consumption of tobacco per month was three pounds to each 
man. The officer who showed us round had Brother 
Jonathan’s genuine nasal twang, and dealt largely in the 
marvellous. After we had visited the most interesting por¬ 
tions of the vessel, and got our heads well crammed with the 
most wonderful notions of her capabilities,^be took us into 
his own peculiar sanctum to taste some whisky, almost the 
only liquor they drink, and which he guessed was “ a most 
elegant wine. In fact, he had a Sardinian officer on board 
yesterday, and he drank two bottles, but it was rather too 
elegant for him, he calculated, for he pitched over into the 
water when he was about four yards from the shore, he did, 
and that’s a fact.” 

Spent the afternoon rowing about the harbour in one of 
our small boats. 

May 7.—Steamed out of the harbour at 4 A.M. Passed, 
during the day, Elba, Civita Vecclvia, and the mouth of the 
Tiber. 


CHAPTER Y. 

NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 

May 8.—Woke with a start, and the sense of the near reali¬ 
sation of some pleasing and long looked-for event. Pushed 
on deck in night-shirt—no ladies on board, remember— 
thermometer at 68 u , and only half-past 4 in the morning ! 
Yet no wonder, for the burning mountain is in sight, and 
his ugly column of black smoke curls like a dark blotch 



42 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


across the bright sky and gorgeous clouds that herald in the 
rising sun ! Now we pass within a mile or so of Ischia, a 
large island bespangled with white houses. Now the pretty 
little holm of Vivara courts our admiration, and is quickly 
followed by its more distinguished neighbour Procida, whose 
groves of oranges, citrons, and olives are suggestive of 
peculiarly grateful ideas: a dingy old castle, occasionally 
favoured by royalty, crowns its summit, and the small port 
of Rocciola crouches on the shore beneath. The Bay of Baice 
is on our left, but its enchanting beauties (with which by- 
and-by we hope to become more nearly acquainted) are now 
lost to us, partly by the distance, and partly by the project¬ 
ing promontory of Misenum. 

Our first mate, whose good-nature and bonhomie make us 
loath to part from him, is desperately provoking just now, by 
his apathy and heartless indifference to this loveliest of 
Nature’s panoramas, which we are now approaching. He 
has not one spark of enthusiasm about him. There he 
stands, with his back to it all, lolling against the bulwarks 
—great, fat, soulless porpoise that he is ! ‘‘ He has seen 

the place often enough before, and all the rest of the world 
too, for the matter of that, and he can’t see what there is in 
one part better than another.” Let him think so if he likes ; 
it is all new to us at all events, and a novelty of too fascinat¬ 
ing a character to allow of more than a momentary inter¬ 
ruption from the presence of one discordant spirit. 

It will be needless to say more than that we have entered 
the Bay of Naples. The city is before us, the Castle of St. Elmo 
crowns the heights above, and Vesuvius fumes away on the 
right. How dazzlingly bright in the sunshine is that vast 
multitude of white houses, and how pleasingly suggestive of 
cleanliness and a cleanly people. Yet the truth is, all this 
fair beauty is but the decent outer garment of poverty and 
corruption. ’Tis “ distance” here that “ lends enchantment 
to the view; ” for, now that we have entered the harbour, 
the real nature of the place is but too apparent, and we are 
told it is one of the filthiest towns on the Continent. 

As a specimen of official morality, the custom-house 
officers certainly deserve a prominent notice. One of the 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


43 


subordinates contrived, I do not know how, to get into the 
small boat that was taking us to the shore. His duty was 
to ply us all the way, first one and then the other, with 
“ Bottiglia ! Signor, bottiglia ! ” accompanied by a series of 
mysteriously familiar grimaces, and significant glances at 
our effects; the import of all which was, we were told, that, 
for the consideration of a bottle of wine, the fellow would 
free us from all difficulty at the custom-house. Having 
nothing to conceal, we chose not to understand him. In the 
examining room the civility of the searchers was most 
marked—our bags were merely opened and closed again, 
without an article being touched; but as^yre were walking 
away in admiration of so much courtesy where we had 
expected the opposite, some half dozen magnificent indi¬ 
viduals in bright blue uniforms, whom, if we had met in the 
streets, we should certainly have taken for generals or 
lieutenant-colonels, shuffled alongside of us, and begged, in 
French, that we would not forget the custom-house officers. 
No; it would be very difficult, we thought, to forget them 
after this; but as to understanding them in the way they 
wished, we really felt it would be offering too great an insult 
to their position. And yet, gentlemen as they all profess to 
be, and as many of them really are, they say that the 
salaries allowed by Government are so ridiculously small, 
that without descending to some petty artifice of this kind it 
would be impossible to live. I had this as a positive fact 
from a gentleman who had mentioned the circumstance to 
one of them. And, perhaps, to be robbed by its own 
servants, is nothing less than such a government ought to 
expect. No sooner are we beyond the purlieus of the 
Dogana, than we are assailed by a race of mendicants of 
a totally opposite character—no other, in fact, than that 
eminently interesting and cosmopolitan fraternity before 
alluded to, generically, as the “continental harpy.” Here 
they are again in all their accustomed variety, and with more 
than their accustomed vivacity and gesticulatory appeal. 
Long and fierce was the battle we waged with this predacious 
little army; and I still look back with peculiar satisfaction 
to the moment when, having by desperate efforts cut our 




44 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


way right through the ranks of the enemy, we drove off 
triumphantly in a small four-wheeled nondescript, with 
four of the unwashed hanging on behind, and only releasing 
their hold when we had satisfied their demands by the muni¬ 
ficent donation of a farthing apiece. Yet were our trials of 
this kind not altogether at an end. In the first open thorough¬ 
fare pretty little dark-eyed, barefooted girls run beside the 
carriage and besiege us with odoriferous bouquets. The 
smallest coin satisfies them, but they will not leave you till 
they get it. These delicate little attentions may be tolerated 
on a first arrival, especially if you choose to accept them 
as a species of small ovation ; but what may be taken as a 
compliment now becomes a perfect nuisance by-and-by 
on the public promenades, where these same fascinating 
damsels, not content with merely offering you their posies, 
come and plant them in your breast or button-hole, and 
although you may reject them fifty times, will not be dis¬ 
missed till you have paid the accustomed forfeit. 

In the matter of hotels Naples is lavish, and not dear 
either, provided you have an understanding with the land¬ 
lord at the outset. Throughout Italy this is necessary, or 
you are liable to the greatest impositions. Ours is the 
Hotel des Strangers, on the Chiatamone —a room on the fourth 
floor, 103 steps from the basement, at one piastra , or 4s. per 
diem —the immediate prospect of the lovely Bay before us, 
with its multifarious shipping, its fleet of small fishing- 
boats, and others thickly dotted over the harbour, and its 
oyster-divers bobbing up and down like so many hungry 
ducks. We dine at the table d'hote, stroll through the public 
gardens—an umbrageous avenue along the sea-coast, orna¬ 
mented with statues—and return to the hotel about 8. S., 

feeling tired, commences the ascent of the flight of steps, 
and puts himself by for the night. I prefer to wander about 
the town and see how the people amuse themselves. After 
passing the square in which the royal palace is situ¬ 
ated, I find myself in the Strada Toledo — the Regent 
Street of Naples, a narrow thoroughfare, a mile and a half 
in length. The shops, compared with ours, have a dirty, 
untidy aspect. Cafes abound, and are crammed every even- 




NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


45 


ing; but the life is all in-doors, the pavement being too 
narrow to admit of the “ turning-inside-out ” arrangement 
which takes place in Paris during the summer months. 

The Episcopal Church of San Francesco is not far from 
here, and I am told there is an imposing service there just 
now. I enter beneath a vast dome which vaults over the 
circular area of the church. Eight gigantic columns of 
flesh-coloured marble support it, the intermediate spaces 
being occupied by colossal figures of the four Evangelists 
and two other saints. In honour of St. Michael, whose fete- 
day it is, there is a temporary allegorical display on the 
chief altar, concealing even the Virgin herself, and illumi¬ 
nated by at least two hundred tapers. Mass is just being 
concluded. The blaze of light about the altar, with the 
formal genuflexions of the priest and his acolytes, the dusky 
crowd kneeling over the vast area of the church, and the 
solemn silence which prevails, except when broken by an 
occasional tinkling of the bell or the monotonous intoning 
of the service, leave an impression on the mind, when seen 
for the first time, not easily effaced. 

St. Michael, I am told, is the patron saint of the city, or of 
the army, I really forget which, most probably the latter, as, 
out of the three hundred churches that Naples possesses, 
not one, so far as I can learn, is dedicated to him; and, in a 
long procession through the streets we witnessed this after¬ 
noon, two or three companies of soldiers followed in the 
train of the banner-bearing priests. But the Neapolitans 
are a joyous folk, and care little for a religious fete, I 
imagine, except so far as it panders to their love of pomp 
and spectacle, or may be followed by a midnight carouse. 
In the lower quarters of the town, into which I penetrated, 
the latter foible seemed to have entered upon its first stage; 
for here, where there is no distinction between footpath and 
roadway, and where, at this time of night, vehicles rarely 
pass, numerous small tables are advanced well out into the 
street, occupied by merry groups of threes and fours, dis¬ 
cussing fourpenny bottles of red wine, and growing eloquent 
and gesticulatory as night comes on. The sight is so novel 
that I have spent two whole hours in the contempla- 


46 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


tion of it before the anomaly of my situation occurs to 
me. In a strange town of nearly 400,000 inhabitants, all 
speaking a strange language, I have roamed about at 
random till well-nigh 11 o’clock at night, without the 
remotest idea of the direction taken, or the distance I 
may be from home, and with just a grain of suspicion to 
boot as to the strict honesty of the people. In this plebeian 
quarter no cabs are to be seen. But in a narrow lane I 
suddenly stumble upon a sentinel on duty. I address him 
in French; he answers me in German, and gives me direc¬ 
tions which enable me to reach my destination just in time 
to surprise my friend S. in an act of summary justice on 
one of his mortal enemies and midnight disturbers of repose 
—the mosquitoes. 

May 9th .—Having observed nothing in the conduct of the 
natives last night to make an Englishman apprehensive for 
his safety, it may be imagined what my sensations were 
when I heard this morning at the breakfast-table of the 
assassination of a young Englishman, of the name of Bland- 
ford, which had occurred quite close to our hotel, not ten 
days previously. He was quite a stranger to the place, and 
was wandering about the streets at a late hour, just as I had 
done last night, when two men sprang out upon him from 
an obscure alley, linked their arms in his, and tried to 
induce him by threats to deliver his purse. He resisted, 
and was about to escape, when another fellow came to their 
assistance, and struck him on the temple with a dagger. 
This brought him to the ground; but at this juncture 
something must have alarmed the villains, for they suddenly 
decamped, taking with them his hat and cane only by way 
of booty. Several persons passed immediately afterwards, 
but seeing blood hurried on—the least trace of blood on the 
clothes being a certain passport to prison. The poor fellow 
was barely able to crawl to his hotel. He lingered a week, 
and then died—not from the dagger-wound, but from the 
effect of the kicks and blows he had received. His funeral, 
which took place yesterday, was attended by a great number 
of English, including the British consul. The king, it is 
said, has used every effort to bring the assassins to justice. 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


47 


Nine suspicious characters have been apprehended, and it 
is expected that three will be hanged. The sympathy the 
affair has raised in favour of the English renders them more 
secure than ever, but it is a sufficient caution to us to shun 
solitary promenades after dark for the future. 

Naples has so little, comparatively speaking, to interest the 
passing traveller, that we resolved to devote the ten days we 
purposed remaining there rather to a series of excursions 
into the surrounding neighbourhood than to a digest of the 
dirty town itself. Vesuvius is naturally the first on the 
list of lions; and, indeed, it is impossible to have that 
delicately tinged spiral column of smoke constantly before 
the eyes, and not long to risk a peep at the huge cauldron 
whence it issues. As this is an undertaking, however, 
requiring some little previous arrangement and preparation, 
we prefer to consider it a “treat in store” for the present, 
and content ourselves to-day with a visit to the two great 
buried cities which fell victims to the vagaries of the volcano, 
some eighteen centuries ago. The first in order, at a distance 
of four miles from Naples, is Herculaneum, which may be dis¬ 
missed in a few words. The excavations here have been less 
complete than at Pompeii, owing to the obdurate nature of the 
volcanic mud and lava by which it was destroyed, as compared 
with the torrent of looser material which buried Pompeii. A 
monster theatre, capable, it is supposed, of accommodating 
8,000 people, is the most noteworthy discovery. The sinking 
of a well, in the year 1706, by bringing to the light sundry 
fragments of mosaics, first led to the suspicion that the 
flourishing town of Portici was reposing on the ruins of a 
great city. We descended by a dark stone staircase, and 
groped our way along a short, narrow passage, until, by the 
aid of two or three flickering tapers and the dim light afforded 
by the shaft of the original well, we found ourselves standing 
in the proscenium of the great theatre. Only a portion of it 
had been cleared, but this was sufficient to indicate its general 
outline and extent. A few fragmentary pieces of sculptured 
marble, and the faded outlines of a fresco, are all that remain 
of its mural decorations ; while, at the back of the stage, 
on the surface of the lava, is still to be seen the print of a 


48 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


mask, which must have been hanging against the wall at the 
time. Other portions of the old town have been excavated 
with more or less success ; but, being difficult of access, and 
entirely underground, they are rarely visited by strangers. 
The destruction of this city, moreover, having been much 
less sudden than that of Pompeii , most of the inhabitants, it 
is supposed, had time to set their houses in order, and carry 
away their valuables, thus depriving posterity of one main 
portion of the interest which attaches to the dwellings of 
their less fortunate neighbours. 

To Pompeii , therefore, great city of the dead, we hasten. The 
railway takes us to Torre dell ’ Annunciata, whence a short 
walk conducts to the so-called Street of Tombs, outside the 
northern gate of the city, which was the main entrance 
from Rome and Naples. It was deeply interesting to reflect 
that along this very road, over the identical flags with which 
it is now paved, Cicero, and Seneca, and Tacitus, and half the 
aristocracy of Rome passed in their chariots, when the heated 
atmosphere of the metropolis drove them to their pleasant 
villas here to revel in the genial breezes that swept over 
the bay. At the commencement of the street alluded to, 
which, by-the-bye, is a portion of the original Appian Way, 
stands the only specimen of a suburban villa. It has been 
called the House of Diomede, from its proximity to a large 
mausoleum, the family vault, as an inscription asserts, of 
Marius Arrius Diomedes, chief magistrate of the Augustan 
suburb of the city. One fact about it is certain, viz., that 
the owner must have been a gentleman who enjoyed his 
“ social glass,” for the extent of his cellars was something 
prodigious. Like most of the houses of Pompeii , this was 
one-storied; a long rectangular court, with corridors, 
fountains, and chambers, of all sizes, and for all purposes, 
ranged around; in fact, the very counterpart of that faithful 
restoration in the Crystal Palace, Sydenham, only on a much 
larger scale. One incident connected with the discovery of 
this villa, is anything but favourable to the character of its 
proprietor. His own skeleton and that of an attendant were 
found near the garden-gate, one grasping a key, and the 
other a purse containing one hundred gold and silver coins, 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


49 


and some silver vases, while the skeletons of seventeen 
wretched members of his family were found huddled to¬ 
gether in a crypt beneath the front entrance. The forms of 
many of them, with the impression even of the various 
ornaments they had about them, it is said, were sharply 
moulded in the fine alluvium with which the vault was 
filled, and two or three of these may still be traced against 
the wall. After a thorough examination of this interesting 
residence, we proceeded along the Street of Tombs, where 
shattered monuments of the dead are remarkably con¬ 
spicuous on either side, entered a triumphal arch, with 
marks in the stone which showed where the ancient port¬ 
cullis hung, and suddenly found ourselves in a labyrinth of 
streets, and squares, and roofless red-brick houses. We 
of course visited the Houses of Sallust, of Cicero, of the 
Faun, of the Tragic Poet (at the entrance to which the 
celebrated “ Cave Canem ” in mosaic may still be seen), of 
the Great Fountain, and many others, not to mention shops, 
restaurants, theatres, temples, the Forum, &c. I shall not, 
however, venture to intrude on the province of the architect 
or the antiquarian by attempting a description of these. It 
will be sufficient to say that we were totally unprepared for 
the wonderful state of preservation everywhere prevailing, 
considering the catastrophe took place some eighteen cen¬ 
turies ago. In the Plouse of the Small Fountain, at one end 
of the garden, is an exquisitely beautiful grotto, made of 
various coloured marbles mosaically arranged, and orna¬ 
mented with rows of shells not ono of which is displaced, 
and the whole apparently as brilliant and perfect as the day 
they issued from the designer’s hands. Another curiosity is 
the unfinished columns in the Forum; it appears to have 
been the practice of the Homan builders to put them in 
position before the chiseling was completed, and there are 
three or four still to be seen with a smooth surface on ono 
side, and the other in such an unfinished state that the 
marks of the workman’s tool are distinctly to be traced. In 
the House of the Tragic Poet, and in others, a few skeleton 
frescoes still remain on the walls to indicate the taste of the 
luxurious Homans in this branch of art; but the iinmenso 

E 


50 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


number of small bronze ornaments*- domestic utensils, 
trinkets, statues, and frescoes which have been discovered 
here—many of the latter as fresh and brilliant as on the day 
they were buried—now form a valuable collection in the 
Museo Borbonico at Naples, where we afterwards saw them. 
It would have been more interesting to have examined them 
in situ perhaps, but exposure to the atmosphere, no less than 
the appropriating proclivities of small antiquaries, would 
have proved fatal to them, it was thought, and they were 
removed to safer custody. The streets are narrow, and rudely 
paved with flags; they have a raised causeway on either 
side for foot passengers, with a sufficient interval between 
for one chariot only, and here and there huge stepping- 
stones for the accommodation of pedestrians in wet weather. 
A propos of the narrowness of the streets, many of which 
are long and winding, an ingenious little contrivance was 
pointed out to us for the convenience of charioteers. Pro¬ 
jecting horizontally from the wall at each end of the street 
is an iron bar, from which was suspended a large metal 
disc, with a tongue of the same hanging loosely at its side. 
When a vehicle entered a street, the driver, as he passed, 
seized the swinging pendulum and sounded such an alarm 
on the metal plate as might be heard by any one who was 
about to enter at the other end, and so prevented an un¬ 
pleasant collision half-way. A clever little arrangement 
this, and although a noisy one, certainly less offensive than 
the brawling disputes constantly occurring in the small 
streets of our cities. 

As the excavations proceed, some new proof of the highly 
civilised condition of the inhabitants is established; evi¬ 
dencing that no more complete record of a defunct commu¬ 
nity exists in the world. So perfect is the preservation of the 
houses generally, it would be easy to imagine oneself in the 
midst of a city that had just been visited by some fearful 
tornado which had succeeded in carrying off the roofs of 
the houses, scattering the population, and leaving all else 
intact. One awkward circumstance only stands in the way 
of such a supposition—the whole area is thickly strewn with 
small sconce and pumice-stone, two substances powerfully 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


51 


suggestive of the propinquity of a certain choleric old 
mountain. And, for the matter of inhabitants, besides a 
score or so of custodians and guides, that pretty little lover 
of antiquity, the brown lizard, is now undisputed “lord of 
the soil.” Our way out of the town lies across the arena 
of the ampliitheatre, as yet only in part exposed to view r , 
and then by the old barracks, close to which is one of the 
original springs, whose copious flow of ice-cold water that 
same delirious monster above alluded to was evidently un¬ 
able to exhaust. We bid our adieus Jp. a draught of the 
same, and take the road for Castellammare , the ancient Port 
of Stabice. Here we dismiss the guide who had accompanied 
us from Naples, and set out on a nine-miles’ walk along 
the shores of the bay to Sorrento , a lovely spot, in whose 
romantic neighbourhood we purpose spending our Sunday. 
We accomplish the distance in about two hours and a half. 
This includes a short halt at the village of Vico, for the 
legitimate purpose of recruiting our exhausted strength—a 
brief description of which process may not be out of place 
here, and will serve as a sample of future similar occasions. 
Animal food we observe to be in jioor repute; a butcher’s 
shop therefore is a luxury to be met with only in large 
towns, while greengrocers and Italian warehousemen abound 
everywhere. At one of the last-named establishments we 
provided ourselves with a bottle of excellent red wine, bread 
and cheese at discretion, dried figs, and walnuts, all for the 
ridiculous sum of two ccirlini and a half, or about fivepence, 
apiece. Articles of this kind, including oranges, lemons, 
and macaroni, appear to be the staple commodities in this 
part of the peninsula, and are doubtless better adapted to a 
climate like this than the roast beef and brown ale which 
“John Bull” is apt to consider so indispensable to his physical 
prosperity. A meal like the above would not seem very 
satisfactory to a couple of Englishmen who had got through 
a hard day’s w T ork on nothing but an orange or two since 
eight o’clock in the morning; but, whether it be the bewitch¬ 
ing balminess of the atmosphere, or the excitement of con¬ 
stant novelty, we find that our appetites are much less 
exacting than they would be under similar circumstances in 


o2 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


the old country. We reach Sorrento about 8 o’clock; find 
the Villa Nardi, overlooking the bay, as full as it can he, 
hut are accommodated by the landlord at another house of 
his in the town. We arrange to breakfast at the villa, and 
go early to bed, having first moistened our parched throats 
with a tumbler of delicious citron-water. 

May 10 th. —My notes to-day I find are dated from “ Our 
Church on the Hills above Sorrento —noon.” Our church 
is a suppressed convent on one of the loftiest peaks of the 
range of hills which screen Sorrento from the hot southern 
blast. It is now uninhabited, and is called Deserto di Sand 
Agata. A lovely walk through orange and citron groves, 
where the fruit clusters as thickly on the trees as apples and 
pears in our most abundant seasons—then a winding up-hill 
path, some two or three miles in length, with the interwoven 
boughs of chestnuts and olives above our heads, and we are 
standing in front of this spacious old ruin. We have spent 
half an hour or more in rambling through its deserted 
chambers and subterranean vaults, and are now seated on 

/ 

the old garden wall—the Bay of Naples to our left, that of 
Salerno on our right, and all around us a glorious panorama 
of hill and plain ; pretty little white villages smiling up to 
us from below; and islands with which we are already 
familiar greeting us across the Bay. We have just been 
confirming to ourselves the fact that it is Sunday by reading 
a few chapters from our pocket Testaments. We go back in 
imagination to the time when Paul visited these shores, and 
trod the Appian Way. Puzzuoli, where he landed, on the 
farther side of Naples , is almost in sight. We shall come to 
it another day. 

But now some threatening clouds warn us that we must be 
on the move again. Down, therefore, into a deep ravine, 
through a pretty village occupying the hollow, up hill again 
by a narrow tortuous path of jagged stones, every unit of 
which seems to have a special quarrel to pick with your poor 
feet; across a broken heath, thickly strewn with springes for 
quails and other birds; and finally on to the summit of a 
hill which seems even loftier than the one we have just left. 
We seat ourselves on the brow of a projecting knoll—the 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


53 


three charming little islands of the “ Syrens,” so called, 
immediately beneath ns—and prepare to discuss the humble 
store of bread and wine and fruit which we had purchased in 
the village below. The rain, however, obliges us to make 
a short meal of it, and to precipitate ourselves down the 
mountain’s side—such a series of leaps and slides as would 
have roused the envy of a cat to witness—first from rock to 
rock, and then, as we get lower down, from terrace to terrace ; 
the Italian system of hill-side cultivation being in full opera¬ 
tion here ; the terraces in question being about three feet 
broad, and receding upwards at intervals of from four to six 
feet. Once more on the high road, we jump into the first 
vehicle that comes to hand, and drive, post haste to Castel- 
lammare in the hope of catching the half-past 4 train to 
Naples. We just contrive to miss it, and as there is no 
other for an hour, and the atmosphere is very raw, we think 
it a favourable opportunity for testing Italian skill in the 
well-known Parisian luxury of black coffee and Cognac. 
The proprietor of the cafe , a jovial little fellow, entertains 
us the wdiile in an elegant combination of Neapolitan, Prench, 
and English. It is the first time my friend has tasted this 
exhilirating beverage, and his elevation after it is rather 
amusing. He declares there is nothing like eau-de-vie for 
keeping your spirits up ; professes himself ready for any¬ 
thing; w T ould fight old Bomba or anybody else “ for a song; ” 
has a strong desire to talk nothing but French, a language 
he has no great predilection for on ordinary occasions; is 
quite patronising to the guard of the train; wants to give 
a little boy sixpence to stand on his head against a lamp- 
post, &c., &c. This effervescence, however, soon exhausts 
itself, and w r e regain our hotel at Naples , without further 
adventure, soon after 8 o’clock. 

May 1 1th .—A day at the Museo Borbonico , among the 
Pompeian frescoes and mosaics. What an art-genius that 
people possessed! It makes one blush for our owm times 
when we reflect on the little progress that has since been 
made. Have we not retrograded rather ? Not in detail and 
finish perhaps, but certainly, I think, in what Mr. Buskin 
calls “ motive,” and in a vigorous power of expression. The 


54 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


notion, the ancients had of symmetry in the human form, 
and the facility with which they were able to give expression 
to it, is wonderfully exemplified in many of these frescoes— 
grace and beauty in the female, and fine muscular develop¬ 
ment in the man. Subjects from Grecian and mythological 
history, executed by Grecian artists, appear to predominate, 
proving thereby the estimation in which Greek art was held 
at that period. One drawing, illustrative of domestic life 
very much amused us. It represented some children playing 
with knuckle-bones at what we used to call “ dibs,” and 
whenever I see that game now I look upon it with great 
respect. All these paintings, no less than other objects 
we shall see on some future day, are in such remarkably 
good preservation, that, as an instance of it, even the boards 
hung up outside the theatre to announce the play for the 
evening are still covered with legible characters. 

In the evening we went to San Carlo —next to La Scala, at 
Milan, the largest theatre in the world. The doors open, we 
are told, at 22f o’clock— i.e. half-past 6—it being the custom 
of the Italians, and a very rational one too, of beginning to 
count at 8 o’clock in the evening, and making one legitimate 
day of twenty-four hours, instead of splitting it into two 
equal portions of twelve. Seats in the pit-stalls cost us only 
four carlini, or Is. 4 d., each. It is in the horseshoe form, 
like Her Majesty’s, in London, and richly decorated with 
gilt. The entertainment consisted of the first act of Othello, 
followed by I Puritani. The anticipations we had formed of 
the musical treat in store for us were by no means realised. 
All the great artistes were in the provinces; and even in ‘ ‘ the 
season,” we are informed, the Neapolitans do not fare much 
better — the inducements held out by the great London- 
and Parisian managers rarely failing to monopolise the 
highest talent. We laughed heartily at the ludicrous 
attempt to imitate the respective costumes of the Puritans 
and the Cavaliers — the latter being a species of hybrid 
between an Italian brigand and an English highwayman. 
The only remunerative feature of the entertainment was 
the ballet. This was danced by about thirty couples in a 
tolerably good imitation of the Highland dress. It was a 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


55 


fearfully long performance throughout, not being over till 
half-past 12. 

May 12th.—How insignificant must a traveller feel his 
own power to be when he attempts a description of the 
sublime spectacle we have this day witnessed! Any one 
who has visited the crater of Vesuvius in one of its angry 
moods will understand the reluctance with which I enter 
upon such a task. To omit it altogether would be a 
breach of faith towards the friends for whose special edifi¬ 
cation this little journal is intended, and yet I feel how 
inadequately I can convey in language 7 any but the most 
meagre idea of such a scene. Not to waste words upon 
preface, however, let me plunge in medias res by assuming 
that we have reached Resina —a village at the foot of the 
mountain, about six miles from Naples. Hence the ascent 
usually begins. We provide ourselves with a guide, a horse 
apiece, and a couple of alpenstocks —this being the orthodox 
recipe for getting over the first five or six miles. For some 
distance the track is devious and rugged enough. In one 
part we are detained a good quarter of an hour by a terrific 
combat between two mules; and it is not until one of them 
begins bleeding profusely about the mouth that their owners 
are able to separate them. The Neapolitans are a hot- 
tempered people, and it would seem that their brute creation 
are by no means their inferiors in this particular. We pre¬ 
sently come out upon a good broad carriage-road, which, as 
we continue the ascent, affords us the most enchanting views of 
the whole underlying region.* At about two miles from the 
summit the high road terminates in front of a solitary hostelry 
called “ The Hermitage.” Cavaliers lightly armed, like our¬ 
selves, may proceed another mile or more, when the horses 
are dismissed, and the real “tug of war” begins. No 
trifle to all appearance—no molehill this ! And no little 
well-trodden path to facilitate the ascent. Henceforward 
nothing but a confused trackless jumble of jagged black 
lava and white pumice. Steep, moreover—painfully so after 
a time. One little bed of white cinders, only a few yards in 

* From the vines which grow on the side of the hill, the famous 
“ Lachryma Christi ” is made. 


56 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


breadth, but almost perpendicular, takes us fifty minutes 
to traverse. The nature of it is such, that for every three 
steps forward you take at least two backward, and the strain 
upon the knee-joint is awful. Men with long leather thongs 
fastened about the waist dog our steps, and offer us the other 
end of the thong. They are perfect pests; try to persuade 
us that to cross this little belt of pumice-stone without their 
assistance is an utter impossibility ; that nobody ever does ; 
and they are even so abominably ill-bred as to laugh at 
the struggling efforts we make to do without them; which, 
nevertheless, to say truth, must have been highly diverting 
to a looker-on. But we did it, and turned the laugh against 
them. Ladies surmount the difficulty in chairs, which are 
fastened to poles and borne by half a dozen men. A propos 

of the fair sex, S-, who is an insufferable punster, just 

at this juncture picks up the sole of a shoe which some 
fair climber has left behind her, and, holding it up with a 
triumphant air, boasts that he has found the sole of some 
poor creature who has lost her understanding ; and when I 
remonstrate with him for inflicting a wound at such a time, 
I get a request that he may be allowed to lieel it for me. 
After the pumice-bed, a return to the original lava dross is a 
great relief. And now, too, all sense of fatigue is sunk 
in the new excitement occasioned by certain significant 
rumblings beneath our feet. On first hearing them we ex¬ 
perience a kind of awe lest some new and disastrous phase 
of internal activity may be about to develop itself, but are 
reassured by the guide, who informs us that the health of 
the old mountain is perfect. We think his breathing rather 
hard, but climb on. It grows more stentorian as we approach 
the summit, and is interrupted at short intervals by deafen¬ 
ing reports as from a whole battery of guns. At length we 
enter a damp sulphurous mist, on emerging from which we 
find ourselves on the edge of the mighty crater itself! 

There have been periods I can imagine in the lives of certain 
favoured individuals when the whole spiritual being has been 
so prostrated before some startling revelation of the Divine, 
some opening up of the soul’s inner vision to scenes from 
another world, or to a perception of some higher law of life 



NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


57 


than comes within the pale of their daily experience, that 
their very individuality has seemed to be absorbed for the 
time in that of some higher organisation. Just so, in the 
lower plane of the natural mind, it happened with us on 
the present occasion. Sq completely overpowering was the 
dazzling brilliancy of the spectacle with which we were thus 
suddenly confronted, that it was some minutes, I believe, 
before we could collect our scattered senses sufficiently to 
realise the fact that we were really gazing upon a scene of 
this every-day old world. 

We are standing, then, on the rim of a gigantic basin, 
more or less circular in form, and of a diameter varying 
from about half a mile to a mile. Its sides, which are com¬ 
posed mainly of sulphur, rise to a height of about twenty 
feet in some parts, and in others, as at the spot we now 
occupy, not more than three or four feet, above the bed of 
blackenecf scoria} which forms its basement. From its centre 
two small cones of scorice and brimstone combined start up 
to a height of 40 and 20 feet respectively, whence a con¬ 
tinuous spiral stream of yellowish vapour constantly ascends. 
From the larger of the two cones, at regular intervals of 
about five minutes, a species of grand pyrotechnic display 
takes place. The rumbling noise from below, which never 
ceases, becomes gradually intensified, until, with a report 
as from the bursting of a whole battery, there shoots up, 
70 feet into the air, a dense flight of ashes and liquid lava, 
which immediately falls down again within the area of 
the crater. As the sun shines down upon all this, flush¬ 
ing with amber the vapoury columns of smoke which are 
ever issuing from the two cones, and making the bright 
red and yellow tints of the sulphur to glisten with crys- 
tallic lustre, the magnificence of the spectacle is such as 
defies description. But, after all, sublimity, although a 
fine thing per se, is not everything—mountain air and a toil¬ 
some ascent are wonderful appetisers, and hungry mortals . 
cannot exist upon imagination. No sooner, therefore, are 
our first notes of admiration exhausted, than we dispose 
ourselves conveniently in the hollow of a defunct crater, 
contiguous to, and an offshoot, so to speak, from the 


58 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


other. This is our impromptu salle-a-manger . A man with 
a basket of vegetable diet has followed us here; and it will 
give some idea perhaps of the quality of mountain air if I 
record the fact that, in a very few minutes, three of us had 
demolished a loaf of bread, eight eggs, six oranges, and two 
bottles of wine. The eggs we cooked in a boiling hot vapour 
which issued from an aperture in the side of the crater. 
Two minutes and a half sufficed for the operation, and without 
allowing the flavour of sulphur, with which the vapour was 
strongly impregnated, to penetrate beyond the shell. When 
it came to the question of settling our score, the miserable 
possessor of the basket demanded, with unblushing effrontery, 
three piastres—a sum equal to twelve shillings. We might 
have purchased the same articles in the village below for a 
sum total of precisely eighteen pence, and our guide would 
have carried them for us. We therefore obliged the fellow 
to be satisfied with something less than half his demand, and 
promised to remember him, with a caution, to our friends. 
Having then accomplished the serious duty of internal for¬ 
tification, let us improve our acquaintance with the great 
crater by descending to its hard black bed, and treading 
the baked dross of which it is composed. Would you 
have an idea of the nature of this feat, I may inform you 
that, on inserting our sticks into one of the small crevices 
with which the whole area is thickly intersected, they caught 
fire immediately, and came out flaming. Our promenade 
therefore is a warm one for the soles of the feet—a fact 
doubtless which has given rise to a heathenish tradition, 
still extant among the guides, to the effect that the soles of 
their patrons become their property when the pilgrimage is 
over. Our sensations while traversing the thin coating of this 
fiery furnace are, as may be imagined, none of the pleasantest 
—the internal throes of the huge old mountain continuing 
meanwhile with unabated vigour. Vesuvius was at the time 
only in a state of preparatory eruption, but the bed of the 
crater was rising so rapidly that a general outburst seemed 
probable. When this takes place the configuration of the 
crater is more or less modified, according to the inten¬ 
sity of the overflowing current of lava, and the direction it 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


59 


may take. The last eruption occurred in May, 1855. It 
destroyed a whole village, and more than one fine estate, 
besides inflicting serious injuries on the persons of many 
individuals, to whom a distance of several miles even was no 
security against the shower of scorching stones which from 
time to time were discharged from it. 

Before quitting the crater, we are so far venturesome as 
to advance and snatch a trophy of brimstone from the smaller 
of the two cones ; while our guide, a man without any nerves 
at all, I should imagine, is daring enougb 7 to rush in towards 
the central cone the moment an explosion has taken place, 
plunge a copper coin into some of the red-hot liquid lava 
just deposited at its base, and restore it to us well sunk in 
a small rugged lump of the same, which soon becomes black 
and hard, and sufficiently cool to hold in the hand. Wo 
now re-ascend to the upper edge of the basin, and proceed 
to mount towards the highest point—4,000 feet above sea- 
level. Here we take one last lingering survey of the whole 
scene, and then commence a rapid descent into the valley. 
Two young Englishmen, friends of the poor fellow who was 
buried at Naples the day we arrived, and an old Irish gentle¬ 
man, accompany us. The behaviour of the latter towards 
the guides is vastly amusing. He has the greatest contempt 
for them; and woe be to the luckless individual who pre¬ 
sumes to offer him advice! Our man received a stern rebuke 
for telling bim to do so and so. The old boy rushed up to 
the disrespectful guide, planted his tall gaunt figure in a 
threatening attitude, staff raised in air, ready for the “ St. 
George’s Stroke,” and thus addressed the miserable victim 
before him, “ Votes — votes — votes—polligon ! Votes jamais osez 
de dire ‘ il faut ’ a un Anglais ! Si votes jamais dites moi comme 
pi encore , je couperai votre tele ! ! ” Having delivered himself, 
with some difficulty of utterance, of this elegant exordium, 
he seemed doubtful what course next to pursue, and had not 
our man beat a prudent retreat, his dilemma would have 
been considerable, I think. As it was he soon relapsed into 
his former good humour. The descent to the place where we 
had left our horses occupied only five minutes, instead of the 
hour which it had taken to climb the same. With the help of 



60 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


our alpenstocks we slid over the bed of pumice like cats down 
a house-wall. We reached Pesina, the place we started 
from, about half-past 3, whence thirty miles of rail took us 
southwards to Nocercc, and an hour and a half of journey by 
diligence , still farther south to Salerno . Here, at the “ Hotel 
Vittoria,” we had engaged to meet a worthy knight from 
New South Wales, whose acquaintance we had made at the 
breakfast-table in Naples this morning. He was going to 
visit the ruins of Pcestum on the following morning, and had 
placed the vacant seats in his carriage at our disposal. The 
hotel being full, he kindly offered the services of his courier 
to procure us accommodation for the night elsewhere. All 
the hotels in the town were full, in consequence of the great 
influx of visitors from the north at this season of the year. 
The proprietor of a small eating-house offered us a mattress 
on the table of his salle-a-manger , but the prospect was so 
uninviting that we returned to the hotel and expressed our 
readiness to put up with a sofa or a couple of chairs, provided 
they were clean. Meanwhile the courier fell in with a friend 
travelling in a like capacity with two English ladies, the 
fortunate possessors of a sitting-room as well as bed-room. 
They no sooner heard of our dilemma than with true British 
hospitality they at once vacated the former in our favour; 
and in a very few minutes we were duly installed, a hearty 
supper was placed before us, and a couple of impromptu beds 
sufficed for the repose of our weary limbs. 

May 13 th. —The cornier, who is a Prussian, calls us at a 
quarter to 4 this morning, wishing us the “morning sen¬ 
timent,” as he terms it. We throw open our windows to 
admit the delicious morning air, and find the streets already 
alive with traffic ; for the Italians, sensible folk as they are, 
are early risers at this time of year. After a light breakfast, 
we start in a large open carriage, drawn by three horses 
abreast, for Pcestum; not forgetting first, however, to leave 
our cards, with expressions of gratitude on the backs of them, 
for our two benefactresses of last night. We pass through 
some very fertile, but rather monotonous country. A spur of 
the Apennine range skirts the road almost the whole way; 
but showery weather interferes considerably with our view. 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


61 


Sir W-, who appears to be a man of immense information 

on every conceivable subject, enlivens the tedium of the way 
by telling us anecdotes of Australian life, in the early colo¬ 
nisation of which his father bore a leading part. He himself 
was educated in the Colonial University, and holds the rank 
of major in the army. lie was in England a few years back 
on business connected with the colony, on which occasion 
he obtained his knighthood. He tells us the name of almost 
every herb we see, and seldom passes an unknown one with¬ 
out stopping the carriage to descend arud,. examine it. We 
pass a very old olive orchard, which must have existed since 
the time of the early Homans. We measure a tree there 
which is ten feet six inches in circumference. The Judas- 
tree also, with its red blossoms, he points out to us, and tells 
us of the legend connected with it, to the effect that the 
blossom, which was formerly white, has never ceased to 
blush since the day that Judas hanged himself on it. The 
district immediately surrounding Poestum , although once 
rich in soil and highly cultivated, is now barren and desolate 
to a degree. Instead of the twice-blossoming roses for which 
it used to be celebrated we see now only the rank weeds of 
pestilential marshes, and inhale an atmosphere such as only 
pigs, sheep, buffaloes, and wild horses can breathe with 
impunity. Except three large temples, little of this once 
flourishing seaport now remains : a fragmentary pentagonal 
outline of wall, with bits of towers and archways, a small 
portion of the aqueduct which supplied the city from the 
mountains, and here and there an indication of street paving. 
Of the temples, that of Neptune is the grandest. Its state 
of preservation is most perfect, being built of an exceedingly 
hard, rich, brown, calcareous stone, called Travertine. Eor 
simplicity and grace, combined with great solidity, its equal 
is only to be found among the ancient monuments of Greece— 
a fact which seems to prove that Pcestum must have been 
one of the earliest colonies of that country. -There is a 
singular appearance about its fluted Doric columns that 
has given rise to much discussion. The highest typal form 
of this order, I believe, is one in which the columns are low, 
with shafts diminishing rapidly in a straight line from the 



62 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


base to the top. Unfortunately for this, axiom, in the present 
instance there is a visible swelling about a third of the way 
up the shaft. Architects generally, in order to make this 
apparent discrepancy accord with the established rule, attri¬ 
bute it to the decay of the stone, which, they say, would 
naturally take place at the bottom of the shaft in a greater 
degree than elsewhere. This may be a convenient method 
of getting rid of a difficulty, but to those who have examined 
the objects on the spot, with an unbiassed eye, the explana¬ 
tion is by no means satisfactory; and, for our own parts, 
we prefer to accept the evidence of our eyes, and give the 
architect credit for a departure from orthodoxy no less 
beautiful than original. The Basilica and the Temple of 
Ceres, although very fine, are neither so large, so perfect, nor 
so grand as this of Neptune : but as a group, these three 
edifices are certainly the most imposing relics of bygone 
ages in all Italy. Their utter isolation from anything that 
pertains to civilised life, and their position on the sea-coast 
in the midst of a savage waste, seem to link them irrecover¬ 
ably to the past—nay, one can almost fancy the ghosts of 
the old Hellenes prowling sullenly about, and demanding 
wherefore their glory has been thus dishonoured ! Rogers 
is so sweetly eloquent about them, that I am tempted to 
transcribe a few of his lines :— 

“ From my youth upward have I longed to tread 
This classic ground. And am I here at last ? 

Wandering at will through the long porticoes, 

And catching, as through some majestic grove, 

Now the blue ocean, and now, chaos-like, 

Mountains and mountain-gulfs, and, half-way up, 

Towns like the living rock from which they grew? 

A cloudy region, black and desolate, 

Where once a slave withstood a world in arms. 
******** 

’Tis said, a stranger, in the days of old, 

(Some say a Dorian, some a Sybarite ; 

But distant things are ever lost in clouds,) 

’Tis said a stranger came, and, with his plough, 

Traced out the site, and Posidonia rose, 

Severely great, Neptune the tutelar god ; 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


63 


A Homer’s language murmuring in her streets, 

And in her haven many a mast from Tyre. 

Then came another, an unbidden guest. 

He knocked and entered with a train in arms; 

And all was changed, her very name and language! 

The Tyrian merchant, shipping at his door 
Ivory and gold, and silk, and frankincense, 

Sailed as before, but, sailing, cried £ For Passtum! ’ 

And now a Virgil, now an Ovid sung 
Paestum’s twice-blowing roses ; while, within, 

Parents and children mourned—£tnd r eyery year, 

(’Twas on the day of some old festival) 

Met to give way to tears, and once again 
Talk in the ancient tongue of days gone by. 

At length an Arab climbed the battlements, 

Slaying the sleepers in the dead of night; 

And from all eyes the glorious vision fled ! 

Leaving a place lonely and dangerous, 

Where whom the robber spares, a deadlier foe 
Strikes at unseen—and at a time when joy 
Opens the heart, when summer skies are blue. 

And the clear air is soft and delicate ; 

For then the demon works—then with that air 
The thoughtless wretch drinks in a subtle poison 
Lulling to sleep ; and when he sleeps, he dies. 

* * * * * * * 

But what are these still standing in the midst? 

The earth has rocked beneath ; the thunder-storm 
Passed through and through, and left its traces there ; 

Yet still they stand as by some unknown charter ! 

Oh, they are Nature’s own ! and, as allied 
To the vast mountains and the eternal sea, 

They want no written history ; theirs a voice 
For ever speaking to the heart of man ! ” 

Forsyth also says of them:—‘ ‘ On entering the walls of 
Psestum, I felt all the religion of the place; I stood as on 
sacred ground; I stood amazed at the long obscurity of its 

mighty ruins.Taking into view their immemorial 

antiquity, their astonishing preservation, their grandeur, 
or rather grandiosity, their hold columnar elevation, at once 
massive and open, their severe simplicity of design—that 



G4 COYTTN'EJJTAL way-side yotes. 

simplicity in which art generally begins, and to which, after 
a thousand revolutions of ornament, it again returns; taking, 
I say, all into one view, I do not hesitate to call these the 
most impressive monuments that I ever beheld on earth.” 

What need one add to such eulogiums as these ? I will 
say but one word. The poetry of the place was exquisite ; 
and had it been permitted to mortals to know unmixed 
delight, our enjoyment of it doubtless would have been so 
too. But the disturber of our felicity is already there— 
where indeed is he not P Of all things under the sun in this 
land of sunshine and beauty, save me, 0 ye gods, from that 
lean sallow-faced man who comes all the way across the 
Atlantic to do Italy in a fortnight! There he stands, 
Murray in hand; and, in presence of the most sublime 
objects, will read out from beginning to end, for the benefit 
of all who may be within earshot, the full description 
from his favourite author. His voice is none of the most 
musical, and his remarks, as he proceeds, are of a kind that 
none but his own countrymen are able to appreciate. Be 
sure he does not fail us on the present occasion ; and I shall 
not easily forget the expression of contempt on our learned 
friend’s countenance when we departed and left him master 
of the field. We reached Salerno again about 5 p.m. parted 

company for the present with Sir W-, and regained 

Naples the same evening. 

May 14.—Another feast in the Masco Borbonico , but it is 
in the gallery of paintings to-day. There are some pictures 
here, although not many of world-wide fame. But in these 
first days of our Italian life, everything takes a couleur de 
rose: we are enraptured with all we can understand, and give 
unlimited credit to the rest. In the interest of truth though, 
I am bound to say that before entering this gallery, the very 
few works of the old masters I had seen previously had 
not impressed me at all favourably; and it is therefore the 
accommodating mood we are in, I suppose, to which must be 
attributed the partial removal of this impression on the pre¬ 
sent occasion. Who, indeed, could stand before that weeping 
Magdalen by Guercino, and not feel stirred with emotions 
that no modern painting could excite ? Her utterly woe- 




NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


65 


begone, yet sweet face, as sbe leans over tlie table on which 
lies her loved Lord’s crown of thorns, her beautiful auburn 
hair streaming wildly over her shoulders, the tear-drop 
hanging upon her cheek, and her whole being convulsed 
with that eloquent grief too deep for utterance, and of so 
sacred a nature that, as you gaze, the soul warms and sym¬ 
pathises, till life itself almost seems to be before you. Such is 
the power of art as it was understood by those earnest, kigli- 
souled men of the sixteenth century. This picture is not con¬ 
sidered one of Guercino’s best, I believe; but to me it was the 
introduction to a new-born pleasure, and as such it will ever 
have a hallowed corner in my memory. Of the other works 
in this room of the capi d'opera, those which most struck us 
were Annibal Carracci’s Pietd, or the dead body of Christ 
supported by the Madonna—in the figure of Christ the re is 
a wonderful resemblance to Buonarotti’s sculptured Pietd 
which we saw in the hospj^al at Genoa; two small paintings 
by Correggio, representing respectively the legend of the 
marriage of St. Catherine with the infant Saviour, and the 
Madonna resting with the “ child Jesus” in a wood during 
their flight into Egypt—two perfect little gems of their kind ; 
Domenichino’s “ Guardian Angel protecting Innocence from 
an Evil Spirit, and directing her steps to heaven;” Claude’s 
Egerian landscape ; Spagnoletti’s “ St. Jerome,” awakened 
from his prayers by the sound of the last trump; Titian’s 
celebrated “ Magdalen in Prayer,” with clasped hands and 
swollen eyes'; and last, though first in order of merit, 
Eaphael’s “Holy Family,” called Madonna dol Divino Amove , 
to distinguish it from the many others he has painted of the 
same subject. 

In the other rooms are some works by Albert Durer, at 
whose quaintness of style we are vastly amused, without 
being able as yet to appreciate its merits. Salvator Eosa is 
also represented by two or three rather inferior works, in one 
of which a New Testament precept is treated in a strangely 
literal manner. Two men are approaching each other; 
one has a huge beam running into his eye, and the other is 
still more painfully incommoded by a thing like a wooden 
skewer, intended doubtless for a mote. One other remark - 

F 


66 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


able picture—attributed by some to Colantonio del Fiore, 
by others to Van Eyck—bears the date 1436. It represents 
St. Jerome in his study, extracting a thorn from a lion’s 
foot. The faithful manner in which the artist has depicted 
the worthy father’s numerous articles of domestic furniture 
is perfectly marvellous; but as far as the chief performers 
in the scene are concerned, I could find little to admire. The 
animal seems quite at his ease, and entirely free from pain, 
while the saint is as little intent on the business before him 
as he can be. Several artists were at work upon copies, 
especially in the room of the chef-d'oeuvres. Our friend, the 
knight, bought thirteen of the best, all under £3 (!) apiece. 
There must have been a glut in the market. 

After seeing the pictures we spent some time in the room 
in which the precious objects found at Herculaneum and 
Pompeii are preserved. Here are the identical rings, brace¬ 
lets, and other ornaments taken from the skeleton of Mrs. 
Diomede herself, as fresh and perfect as at the time they 
graced her noble person. Besides these, an infinity of trin¬ 
kets of various descriptions—mosaics, cameos, and necklaces 
of precious stones—of exquisite workmanship and design. 
Also divers articles of consumption, black and charred by 
the fall of ashes, but very little injured in form—corn, flour, 
fish, fruit of all kinds, and a very good cottage-loaf with a 
distinct impression of the baker’s name. There are, moreover, 
the contents of an oilman’s shop, with the colours still un¬ 
changed—not to mention lumps of rouge, betraying woman’s 
foible even at that remote age. But the object of most value 
in this room, although not belonging strictly to this collection, 
is the celebrated Farnese tazza, in sardonyx, said to have been 
found in Hadrian’s tomb, a foot in diameter, with a carved 
head of the Medusa on one side, and an allegorical subject 
on the other. As a work of art, it is pronounced perfect, 
and is not in the least impaired by age. There are other 
rooms devoted to Pompeian objects, but these we reserve for 
another day. 

May 1 5th .—Start early with a guide, in a two-horse 
carriage, for the romantic district just north of Naples— 
Paice, Cumae , Pozzuoli, &c. Pass first through a mighty 



NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


67 


work of the ancients called Grotta di Posilipo —a tunnel half 
a mile long, pierced through the solid tufa rock, and 
averaging a height of fifty feet. We presently halt at Lake 
Agnano, famous as the abode of a colony of green frogs, 
who maintain such a tremendous croaking that you can 
scarcely hear yourself speak. Encircled by lovely hills 
clothed with chestnuts and the ubiquitous olive, it is one of 
those Elysian spots, where, but for the noxious vapours 
emitted from the lake, you would be content to live and die; 
Thus does mischief often lurk in tke'fkirest of outward 
forms. Nay, our guide will conduct us to the very work¬ 
shop of the malignant one, and exhibit to us the potent 
magic of his spells. Here it is, in the hollow of a rock 
close by —Grotta del Cane, it is called; thus named doubtless 
by the proprietor, out of gratitude to the dog tribe, with 
whose assistance he contrives to eke out a comfortable 
annuity; and he does it in this way:—He inveigles strangers 
into his den, points out to them a stratum of carbonic acid 
vapour, brooding like a mist over the ground, asks them 
whether they would like to test its efficacy personally, 
the which, when declined, he seizes a miserable little speci¬ 
men of the canine race, kept at hand for the purpose, lays 
him flat on his back in the vapour, and raises him again in 
about half a minute, to all appearance a defunct animal; a 
few mouthfuls of fresh air restore him to life again, or to a 
semblance of it, and he is put by to undergo a similar opera¬ 
tion for the edification of the next comers. We pay the 
stipulated fee for this exhibition, but under protest, be sure. 
Near to this is another grotto, containing vapour of am¬ 
moniac with a mild infusion of sulphur, tasting like cham¬ 
pagne and “good for stomach,” as our guide informed us ; 
but he must have alluded to a compound he gets under 
that name from the family grocer. In the same locality also 
aro some old Eoman sulphur baths, with the sulphur 
adhering in clotted lumps to the walls, and of a heat that 
well-nigh suffocates. 

Now we pass on to Pozzuoli, the ancient Puteoli, whore Paul 
landed; gain once more the Appian Way, where the iden¬ 
tical lava flags which St. Paul and St. Luke must have 


68 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


trod on their journey northwards, still hang together. A 
notable place this Puteoli — once the chief emporium of 
commerce in all Italy, perhaps in the whole Roman Empire, 
as indeed one can well imagine from the prodigious mass of 
ruins it shows. But the group which puts all the rest into the 
shade, on account of the amount of historical, architectural, 
and geological curiosity it has excited, is the Serapeon, or 
Temple of Jupiter Serapis. On the whole this is the most 
remarkable architectural relic in Italy. It has a singular 
faculty of shifting its elevation—now submerged beneath 
the sea, now raised high above it; at our visit it was 
sunk two feet in water, in which shoals of red mullet 
joyfully disported themselves. It was for many years 
consigned to oblivion beneath a heap of rubbish, until, in 
1750, the reigning sovereign, Carlo Borbone, struck with 
the quality of the upper part of three columns protrud¬ 
ing through the debris , had the whole edifice, in such 
ruinous condition as it was, restored to the light of day. 
Magnificent discovery! Such a treasure of costly marbles, 
mosaics, and broken statuary had never been seen before! 
By far too precious, his Majesty thinks, to lie open here to 
the public gaze; and so they are carried off—some to the 
Boyal Theatre at Caserta, the rest to the museum at Naples. 
The three pioneer columns, however, remain in situ, and 
these we now approach, by means of a raised marble cause¬ 
way,' to verify for ourselves, by their appearance, the 
decisions of the learned regarding their antecedents; the 
eccentricities of which are of course easily accounted for by 
the volcanic nature of the surrounding district. The Am¬ 
phitheatre is the only other ruin to which we devote any 
time, and are much struck with its simple majesty and 
massive proportions. It was here that Nero descended 
into the arena, “where he killed several wild beasts, and 
transfixed two bulls with the same javelin,” much to the 
astonishment of Tiridates, King of Armenia, who was his 
guest at the time. But history is dangerous ground to 
enter upon here—quite interminable—for we are evidently 
in the centre of classic soil now. 

Cumce is not more than a mile or so distant. On the way 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


69 


to it Monte Barbara —home of the Falernian grape—is pointed 
out to us. Close by also are the Solfatara, a semi-extinct 
volcano, and Monte Nuovo, a considerable hill upheaved 
during an eruption in the sixteenth century. The main 
entrance to Cumce from this side still stands in tolerable pre¬ 
servation. It is a brick archway, called Porta Felice , about 
sixty feet high. By mounting to the top of it we get the 
best idea that is to be had of the site and extent of the old 
city. The view is interesting and picturesque, but as nearly 
all the ruins are now either crumbled into dust and mingled 
with the soil, or concealed beneath the brushwood which covers 
the plain, there is little to be learnt from it as to detail. The 
Cumcean Sybil has of course her cave here, but we shall see 
a larger one by-and-by, says the guide ; so we pass on. 

Driving westward, we skirt the shore of Lake Fusaro — 
of oyster fame, and presently emerge upon that bit of fairy¬ 
land which Turner has made the subject of three of his finest 
works. Search all Italy through, and I doubt if you will 
find a more altogether lovely spot than this Bay of Baioe. 
The fertile imagination of Turner has, it is true, in one of 
his pictures, overleapt the intervening gulf of ages and 
ignored the ravages of time by depicting it as it appeared 
when Italy was the glory of the whole world. But in the 
stupendous palatial ruins that now lie piled up upon its 
shores, and which may even be traced beneath the water 
far out into the sea, some idea may be formed of the kind 
of affection lavished upon it by the Roman emperors. 
When we had completed our survey—prospective and retro¬ 
spective—from the elevated ground where we alighted, we 
descended towards the beach to see the remains of a small 
circular building, miscalled the Temple of Mercury—in 
reality one of the outer halls of a bath, and from which 
there is an inimitable echo. And now, invited by the tran¬ 
quil aspect of the sea, and at the instance of a mid-day sun, 
we take a boat, and revel in the delicious waters. Then to a 
rickety plaster cottage, dignified by the title of “Queen’s 
Hotel,” where our appetites we find are fully equal to a 
luncheon of oysters, macaroni, and red wine which is set 
before us. But I must hasten on, or I shall never get to 


70 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


the end of this day of wonders. On leaving the cottage, 
little black-eyed witches, to the number of I know not how 
many, beset our path, and beg to be allowed to serve us. 
One rattles a tambourine before us: “Dance the tarantella, 
milor, sister and I; may we not?” Another pretty little 
brunette, with a plateful of relics in her hand, assures the 
signori that her specimens are real verd antique, and her coins 
all genuine. What is one to do ? It is tantalising in the 
extreme; but time is short, and old Charon waits not many 
hundred yards off to ferry us across the Mare Mortuum to 
the ‘ ‘ Abode of the Blest, ’ ’ or otherwise. Said Mare Mortuum, 
which was once the crater of a volcano, is now little better 
than a marshy swamp, connected by the ancient Styx with 
the Lago del Fusctro. The flat country beyond, which anti¬ 
quaries have identified with the Elysian Fields, is now a 
richly cultivated plain, full of gardens and vineyards. Many 
of the columbaria (so called from their resemblance to the 
holes in pigeon-houses), where they laid their dead, are still 
to be seen in good preservation, and look like so many 
hermits’ cells, hollowed out of the rocky inequalities of the 
ground. Small lachrymal bottles, of various forms and sizes, 
are sold at a cottage close by, and we bring a few of them 
away with us. A lining of hard baked mud is a prosaic sub¬ 
stitute for the tears of the pious; and there have been 
travellers profane enough to question the authenticity of the 
relics people buy here ; but you must bring an elastic faith 
with you to Italy, or you will not get on at all. Misenum, 
fifteen miles from Naples, whose pyramidal promontory 
forms the north-western boundary of the bay, is the farthest 
point we reach to-day. 

Our next “ lion” reposes in peaceful majesty beneath the 
soil, close by— Piscina Mirabilis is its name—an immense 
subterranean reservoir, supported by forty-eight prodigious 
cruciform pilasters. It was used for supplying the Eoman 
fleet with water, which was brought by the Julian aqueduct 
from a place fifty miles off. Its juvenile appearance at the 
venerable age of 1900 years is quite refreshing to behold in 
the midst of so much decay; and it is a jnty that no reliable 
account of its parentage has been discovered. 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


71 


After this we are conducted to Nero’s Prison—a series of 
gloomy passages underground; and then to the Stufe di 
Nerone —Nero’s Stoves—a name to which its boiling vapours 
fully entitle it. It was customary at one time for visitors of 
sufficient courage to dive into these reeking ovens in a state 
of nature, with a raw egg in their hand, and to return in a 
couple of minutes parboiled themselves, and the egg ready 
for eating; but the experiment having proved fatal in more 
than one instance, it has lately been forbidden to any but 
the guides. 

The vestiges of civilised antiquity in "this neighbourhood 
appear to be inexhaustible, and to do full justice to them a 
residence of some weeks would be necessary. The foregoing 
are but a few of the most remarkable, although to a young 
tourist whose stock of classic love is not profound, and 
whose object in travelling is of a superficial kind, they are 
sufficiently comprehensive as types of the rest. The last 
curiosity we visited to-day was the so-called Sybil’s Cave, 
already alluded to, and for the sake of which we had 
neglected its more genuine, though less imposing, rival of 
Cumce. It is approached by a long dark tunnel in one of the 
hills which surround Lake Avernus, the Acheron of the 
ancients. Pluto must have shifted his quarters since Yirgil 
wrote, for a more serene and softly smiling bit of nature 
it would be difficult to find. Having been once the crater of 
a volcano—one of dame Nature’s favourite instruments in 
these parts for the manufacture of lakes—its early days, in 
all probability, were of a much more Plutonic character, 
gloomy and uninviting enough we can well believe; but 
time and the blessed agents of the Great Unseen have 
proved more potent deities than the Tartarean god, and have 
driven him to seek a home elsewhere. The dark vaulted 
passage we are now exploring, with the help of torches and 
a couple of guides, was evidently constructed as a means of 
speedy communication between Avernus and the Lucrine 
Lake , with a lateral branch in favour of Cumce; and the 
group of small chambers to which we are introduced after 
groping along in this way for nearly half a mile formed, 
with equal certainty, the bath-rooms of some great patrician. 


72 


CONTINENTAL "WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


But whether Virgil believed in the Sybil, and in the existence 
of these gloomy tunnels at the time of JEneas, or whether he 
merely availed himself of them to embellish his history, is a 
matter to which, at the present moment, we are supremely 
indifferent, it being of more importance to us to ascertain 
hpwfar the intentions of our two sinister-looking companions 
are honest, when they insist on our mounting their backs, 
and commence wading knee-deep through the tepid alkaline 
water with which the chambers are flooded. Our fears, if 
we had any, however, are soon set at rest by one of them 
entering upon a minute description, in the most elegant 
Neapolitan French, of the whole arrangement. Here lay 
the sybil, and here, opposite to her, in the same room, the 
Emperor Nero—a privileged individual; and here, in a 
chamber alongside, is a small hole in the wall, through 
which alone the Roman knights and senators were permitted 
to consult the august lady. A purpose and a use, in fact, 
is assigned to each hole and corner, with an air of conviction 
quite delightful to contemplate. Albeit, we were not sorry 
to get back to Acheron again, to wash our hands in its 
transparent waters, and, in short, to drive back, without 
further adventure, to home quarters, having spent a most 
enjoyable and remunerative day. 

May 1 6th .—Another day at that inexhaustible museum. 
Our stay here should be weeks instead of days, were it only 
for the sake of this museum. Many interesting objects yet 
remain to be seen in it; but as this is our last day, and as 
we feel a sort of special attachment to anything relating to 
Herculaneum and Pompeii , we devoted the whole morning to 
a suite of rooms containing the small bronzes, to the nifmber 
of several thousands, found in those two cities. In my 
fellow-traveller I have one who is intimately connected with 
this branch of industry in England; and I have it on his 
authority that this wonderful collection, both in design and 
execution—perhaps also in material—is at least equal, if not 
superior, to our own productions at the present day. Awk¬ 
ward fact this for the “march of intellect,” the “progress 
of civilisation,” and the nineteenth century generally ! Evi¬ 
dence all lies the other way here. The whole of this collec- 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. 


73 


tion must have been in existence at the commencement of 
the Christian era—a portion of it probably is more than two 
thousand years old; and yet, with the exception perhaps of 
a few articles of domestic furniture, we seem rather to have 
retrograded than not. Of kitchen utensils, weights and 
measures, candelabra, statuettes, carpenters’ tools, agricul¬ 
tural implements, military weapons, surgical and musical 
instruments, articles for the toilet, and harness for the horses, 
the number and variety are legion. To describe such an 
exhibition in detail, where there is scarcely a single object 
that is not worthy of examination, would be impossible. 
Suffice it to say that it so delighted us as to induce each of 
us to purchase an illustrated book, with descriptive text, 
containing careful drawings of all the most interesting. It 
is not to be wondered at therefore, if, as we came out again 
into the crowded streets of the modern city, we felt like a 
couple of resuscitated citizens of a very ancient one. Nor 
was the visit which we now made to the Carthusian monas¬ 
tery of San Martino calculated to remove this impression— 
where the grave Certosini monks, in long, white cloaks, steal 
noiselessly and speechlessly along the solemn aisles, looking 
more like the ghosts of a departed age, we think, than the 
substantial facts they are of a respectable civilised fraternity. 
The adjacent castle of St. Elmo, being one of the king’s pet 
fortresses, we were not allowed to enter. But, as if to 
indemnify us for the disappointment, the lady proprietress 
of a villa, into whose private grounds we had unwittingly 
strayed, courteously invited us to an inspection of her house; 
the which having respectfully, though reluctantly, declined, 
on the score of time, she begs we will linger in the grounds, 
as long as we like, to enjoy the magnificent views they 
afford; and I need not say that from St. Elmo’s Height 
beneath a cloudless summer sky, they are such as will bear 
comparison with any in the world. I have heard it said by 
more than one traveller that Dublin Bay, as seen from the 
hills above, carries the palm over its southern rival. But 
surely one element in favour of Naples has been overlooked. 
What is there at Dublin to compensate for the brilliancy of 
an Italian sky, and an atmosphere whose every breath is 


74 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


balm, and whose exhilarating influence over one’s senses is 
such as no one who has not experienced it can conceive F 
Until I learn to the contrary, therefore, I claim the pre¬ 
eminence for Naples. 

This is our last evening here, and we are unwilling to let 
it slip by without paying our respects to that great local 
genius, Pulcinella, the people’s orator, statesman, philo¬ 
sopher, all in one. The Teatro di San Carlino is the scene 
of his triumphs, and nightly from its little stage does he 
bring down the thundering plaudits of his constituents. 
Every shade of passing opinion is turned to account, and 
made to administer, by a ready wit and gesture, to the mirth- 
loving appetites of his audience. Not always innocent either, 
it would seem, if one may infer anything from the official 
file of soldiers stationed near him during the performance. 
And yet what would Naples be without its Pulcinella ? 
Verily, one might as well attempt to rob it of its bay and 
its volcano; for they are no more the two great natural 
institutions of the place than Pulcinella is its human one— 
the real animated expression, shall I say, of its native soul 
—existing moreover, according to popular belief, from the 
very remotest antiquity. Traditionally, the Neapolitans are 
at the bottom of half the fun of the world. I have seen a 
couple of boys, at a distance from each other, carry on what 
appeared to be a perfectly intelligible conversation by means 
of grimace and gesture alone; and although I do not remember 
seeing a veritable street “Punch and Judy,” I have no 
doubt that our witty friend above alluded to — between 
whom, by-the-bye, and his contemporary in Fleet Street, 
there is a striking resemblance—is virtually the parent of 
that remarkable institution in our own country. Under a 
liberal form of government, what a model Charivari might 
not the Neapolitans establish. Even under the present tyran¬ 
nical regime (1857), this pungent faculty tempts them now 
and then to overstep the bounds of prudence, as the following 
anecdote will show: —A short time since a rumour got 
abroad that the king intended to pardon a number of poli¬ 
tical offenders, and was about to abdicate in favour of his 
son, the Prince of Capua. Availing themselves of this, one 



NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. *Jo 

of their number drew up a proclamation with the names of 
those who were to be pardoned, and affixed it to the palace 
walls. A recent decree already placed there favoured his 
design by enabling him dexterously to cover all but the 
official heading and signature, thus giving it the stamp of 
authority. This was done under the very eyes of the police, 
but before they could discover the fraud it had been read by 
hundreds of people, and the offender was far beyond pursuit. 
To complete the joke, a passport to the Argentine Eepublic 
was forwarded to the king, as a hint that his resignation 
would be extremely acceptable; but the^audacious culprit 
was never discovered. 

It may not be amiss, at the end of our sojourn in this 
interesting city, to jot down one or two of its more striking 
characteristics. I always had a notion that Naples must be 
a very idle place, and am not sure that I did not expect 
to see half the population lying asleep on the pavement. 
It was an agreeable surprise, therefore, to find a wonderful 
alacrity everywhere prevailing, even down to the most 
juvenile portion of the community, who, with their little 
baskets of cakes, or fruit, or shells, or other saleables, 
might be seen dodging about the chief centres of activity, 
and hawking their wares with all the assurance of a veteran 
of the craft. Forsyth gives, in a few words, such an admir¬ 
able description of the aspect of the public thoroughfares, 
that I feel bound to quote him :—-“Naples, and its interior,” 
says he, “ has no parallel on earth. The crowd of London 
is uniform and intelligible; it is a double line in quick 
motion; it is the crowd of business. The crowd of Naples 
consists in a general tide rolling up and down, and, in the 
middle of this tide, a hundred eddies of men. Here you are 
swept on by the current; there you are wheeled round by 
the vortex. A diversity of trades dispute with you the 
streets. You are stopped by a carpenter’s bench ; you are 
lost among shoemaker’s stools ; you dash behind the pots of 
a macaroni stall; and you escape behind a lazzaroni’s night- 
basket. In this region of caricature every bargain sounds 
like a battle. The popular exhibitions are full of the gro¬ 
tesque, and some of their church processions would frighten 


76 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


a war-horse.” In such, a crowded, disorderly city, it is not 
to be wondered at, that petty larceny is a prevalent crime, 
to which, in the matter of pocket handkerchiefs, we can both 
of us testify. 

With the exception of about three of the principal thorough¬ 
fares, none of the streets are provided with paving for foot 
passengers, an omission which, though inconvenient to pedes¬ 
trians, must be highly satisfactory to shoemakers. Its 
Regent Street is the Strada Toledo, about a mile and a half 
in length, but only broad enough to admit of two carriages 
abreast. Between six and nine in the evening it is the 
fashionable promenade, and a few stylish equipages may 
occasionally be seen enlivening the double line of dingy 
vehicles, which are ever going and returning at a foot 
pace. Here, too, is the Caffe d’JEuropa, where some of 
the best ices in the world are to be had—a particularly 
animated place towards midnight at this season of the year. 
The shops are uninviting enough — narrow fronts, and 
generally unglazed; while here and there a feeble affectation 
of Parisian display causes a smile at its singularity. At 
the doors of the tobacconists hangs an ever-burning -pro boro 
publico piece of tow; and, at the corners of the streets, where 
we are accustomed to behold the serene countenance and 
modest establishment of an old apple-woman, delightful 
little pagodas for the sale of lemon-water are erected. A 
bright yellow water-barrel hangs suspended on either side, 
so as to reach down to the level of the counter, the latter 
being embellished with a pyramid of lemons at one end, and 
an arrangement of glasses and flavouring essences at the 
other. Through all this the fair-haired proprietor and her 
lemon-squeezers are constantly at your command; and the 
invitation she smiles out upon you as you saunter languidly 
along beneath a broiling sun, is not always to be resisted. 

In the way of churches and palaces, “ quantity rather than 
quality ” seems to have been the rule, if we may judge from 
the very few we visited. Of churches there are, according 

to Murray, no less than two hundred and fifty-seven_a 

number which proves that the externals of religion, at all 
events, are well attended to, though, for anything more im- 


NAPLES AND ITS VICINITY. <7 

portant, I fear wo may generally look in vain. Most of the 
shops are provided witli an image of the Virgin, or of some 
tutelary saint, and multitudes of crosses and sacred effigies 
are scattered over the public thoroughfares of the city. Of 
all religions, that of the Roman Catholics is surely the most 
delightful and accommodating. What promise of recovery 
to a sick man was ever more welcome than the following 
announcement over many of the church-doors is to a weary, 
sin-stained pilgrim of this earth—“ Indulgentia plenaria, 
quotidiana, perpetua, toties et quoties /”— y “ Plenary, daily, 
and perpetual indulgence, as much of it, and as often, as 
you please! ” But what does it mean, this indulgence ? 
Is it a permission from II Papa to go on indulging in your 
little peccadilloes ? Or, is it not rather a remission of peni¬ 
tential prayers and fastings, and yet “ go to Heaven” all the 
same P This is, in fact, the purport of it. It is true that 
one trifling little condition does not appear in this announce¬ 
ment, but it is of too secondary a nature altogether to weigh 
for an instant with a true son of the faithful. Besides, it is 
so natural to pay for a gift, that none but a heretic would 
require to be reminded of it. But this is a painful subject. 

A more pleasing aspect of Neapolitan life is that of which 
one may get a glimpse early in the morning, when the small 
proprietors of cows and goats come round to the house-doors, 
and execute your command on the animal itself in your pre¬ 
sence—a delightfully primitive custom, which, if it were 
possible, one would gladly see introduced into our own 
great metropolis. Alas! the “iron-cow” is an institution 
not so easily dispensed with in England. Of kindred an¬ 
tiquity is the custom of employing oxen and buffaloes as 
beasts of burden. The last-named are often very trouble¬ 
some—not restive precisely, because, being generally yoked 
in pairs with their heads downwards, they are incapable 
of independent caperings or tossings with the horns; but 
they will often stand under a gateway, or in the middle 
of a narrow street, their heads drawn sullenly together to¬ 
wards the ground, and their legs diverging stiffly outwards, 
like the trestle of a table, with an air of such imperturbable 
obstinacy, as the ancient “ goad ” of the driver even some- 



78 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

times fails to overcome. The pigs are by no means attrac¬ 
tive ; in colour either dark slate, or a bilious drab, and utterly 
innocent of bristles. The chief articles of cultivation in the 
neighbourhood are the grape and olive, oranges, lemons, 
citrons, chestnuts, cherries, and strawberries, a coarse- 
bearded wheat for making macaroni, clover and lupin for 
the cattle, maize, rice, cotton, madder, and tobacco. The 
threshing-floors are usually situated in one corner of a field, 
and consist of a piece of ground some 20 feet square, covered 
with a hard, white cement. 

With reference to the manufacture of macaroni, I forgot 
to mention, in the account of our excursion to Vesuvius, the 
Torre delV Annunciata, the great centre of that favourite 
industry; and it would gladden the heart of an English 
washerwoman to see the long rows of this singular commo¬ 
dity hanging over cords by the roadside to bleach and dry in 
the sun. The Neapolitan bread is very indifferent—mostly in 
the form of French rolls or tea-cakes—a thick, leathery crust, 
with a polished surface on the outside, and a glorious vacuum 
within. In the way of domestic furniture, nothing has so 
much amused us as the jugs in the bed-rooms of the country 
inns; they are always of white earthenware, and shaped 
either like an ordinary kitchen tea-kettle, or an Oriental 
preserve jar, with a hooped handle over the top, and a straight 
spout protruding from the side. The children are all little 
men and women, both in dress and manners, boys of three 
years’ old being already breeched and jacketed, the queerest 
little oddities you ever saw; and, as to babies, they wrap 
them up in veritable swaddling-clothes, just as they 
are sometimes represented in old pictures—a diminutive 
species of animated mummy, in fact. But these remarks 
apply chiefly, of course, to the children of the lower orders 
and of the peasantry. Such are a few of the distinguishing 
traits of Neapolitan life. 

It is impossible to quit a locality like this—so rich in his¬ 
torical associations and romantic scenery—without a few 
lingering regrets. But with Borne and Florence before us, 
and with that same lovely vault of blue for ever above our 
heads, it need not be wondered at that, as we drive out of 



HOME. 


79 


the city shortly after sunrise on the 17th May, regrets soon 
become merged in joyful anticipations of that which is in 
store for us. 


CHAPTER YI 

ROME. 

Through the courtesy of our old Pcestum friend from 
Australia, we have effected an arrangement for the journey 
to Rome, which is advantageous to us in more ways than 
one. We share with him the expense of a vetturino , 
paying only half the cost between us, and having the services 
of his courier par dessus le marche. A vetturino is the worthy 
possessor of a lumbering machine, which he calls a carriage, 
and of two or more horses. With these he undertakes to 
get you over a certain amount of road, at his own pace, for 
a stipulated sum. He is not likely to travel too fast for the 
sake of his horses ; nor will he dawdle, because time to him, 
as a man of business, is money. This is by far the most 
agreeable mode of travelling in Italy. You avoid the rapidity 
of the diligence, which interferes sadly with your enjoyment 
of a country like this; you may stop as often as you please 
to reconnoitre and examine objects of interest; you sleep in 
comfort at an inn instead of rolling restlessly about in a 
crowded vehicle; and, above all, there is the delightful 
prospect of a possible encounter with the brigands, and all 
its exciting accompaniments. In our own case, on the pre¬ 
sent occasion, we have the additional advantage of a most 
entertaining companion in our fellow-traveller. If he has 
a weakness, it must be for agriculture, as I find my 
note-book filled with jottings thereof—notes of the various 
methods pursued in the cultivation of the lands we pass, of 
the quality of the soil as compared with that of New South 
Wales, and of the various articles which grow upon it—flax, 
with its pretty little blue flower, predominating just here. 

Wo soon reach Capua, a town of considerable pretensions 



80 


CONTINENTAL "WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


in the matter of fortifications, on which, latter our friend 
descants with his usual eloquence. We stay here only long 
enough to purchase a bottle of wine, and pass on through what 
seems to be one continuous vineyard to St. Agata, the next 
station, where we dine, and where, moreover, we fall imme¬ 
diately in love with the feminine head-gear — a simple 
arrangement of white muslin, stretched over a flat but ele¬ 
gantly-shaped bit of cardboard, which rests on the top of 
the head, and a pendant of the muslin behind the cap, difficult 
to describe in words, but most captivating in appearance. 

At Mola, di Gaetci, where we arrived about 7 o’clock, we 
sojourned for the night. A military band is playing as we 
enter. The inhabitants crowd together in the long street, 
and gaze with open eyes and mouths on our imposing equi¬ 
page. Beggars are there as a matter of course—“ tant qtton 
en voudra .” Their behaviour in Naples used to annoy the 
Major terribly; but he now submits to it all with the most 
praiseworthy indifference, sometimes even turning it into a 
source of amusement, by “taking a sight”—to accept the 
common vernacular of our country at home—at the little 
vagabonds, a never-failing remedy, so he says; and, singu¬ 
larly enough, in this case, whether from superstition, or from 
horror at seeing a Neapolitan invention in the possession of 
a stranger, that simple application of the dextral thumb to 
the apex of the nose, combined with a gentle agitation of the 
fingers, takes immediate effect, and the enemy retreats. 

Mola di Gaeta offers three great attractions to the passing 
traveller, viz., the remains of Cicero’s villa; scenery, whose 
loveliness is not to be surpassed, as some think, in all Italy; 
and female beauty of a very astounding universality. This 
latter peculiarity is indeed most remarkable, the more so as 
in the surrounding villages a dearth in this particular is sin¬ 
gularly observable. How the women contrived to secure to 
themselves this noble distinction, is a mystery not easily 
solved; but it is a characteristic of more than one isolated 
town or village throughout the country. In Naples the 
women are mostly fair, but here they are all dark. 

Our hotel is built on the site of the great orator’s villa. 
Gardens, redolent with the perfume of oranges and citrons, 


HOME. 


81 


slope away from it down to the sea-shore; and, in the calm 
twilight of one of the most glorious days we have yet expe¬ 
rienced, we wander through its groves, linger about its 
moss-grown ruins, and drink in such delicious draughts of 
poetry from the lovely scenery beyond, as must recur to us 
with grateful recollections in many an after day. 

May 18 th .—The sun and I rose about the same time this 
morning, and I doubt which of the two felt the more joyous 
and light-hearted. While he mounts heavenwards, I go 
seawards, roaming along the beach towards the town and 
promontory of Oaeta, about two miles7rom Mold, notable 
in ancient history as the burial-place of ./Eneas’s nurse, in 
modern history for the heroic manner in which it has recently 
sustained a siege. 

At o o’clock our “ Noah’s Ark” is again under way. The 
fertility of this district is such that it should be called, I 
think, the “ Garden of Italy.” Oranges, lemons, citrons, 
olives, grapes, pomegranates, peaches, cypresses, myrtles, 
wheat, maize, and other varieties of corn and herb, follow 
one another in rapid succession; while, by the roadside, 
among other less distinguishable beauties, the pink and 
white convolvulus, the scarlet gladiolus, and the yellow iris, 
cluster and abound. The costume of the labourers is ex¬ 
tremely picturesque, many of the women wearing the Greek 
dress. Shortly after leaving Mol a, a conspicuous object 
close to the road is the Tomb of Cicero, a massive round 
tower resting on a square base, and overshadowed by a tree 
resembling the olive, and called the carrouba tree. As we 
approach Itri , a stronghold of brigandage, the scenery 
gradually assumes a wild and forbidding aspect. A forest 
of cork-trees is passed through, and we descend to gather 
specimens of the bark. This tree is often ten years arriving 
at maturity, our Australian companion informs us, but is 
then very profitable. 

Of all the wretched, woebegone, disreputable-looking 
towns I ever saw, this of Itri is about the worst, unless per¬ 
haps it may be surpassed in this respect by its neighbour 
Fondi. No two towns in all Italy have supplied the country 
with so many robbers; and the first-named rejoices in the 

G 


82 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

distinction of having given birth to that prince of brigands, 
Fra Diavolo. The wild costume and sinister hang-dog look 
of the inhabitants is anything but reassuring even now. 
The occasion clearly is all that is wanting to start them once 
more on a lawless career of rapine and plunder; but at pre¬ 
sent the guardhouses, which occur at intervals of two or 
three miles along the road, keep them in subjection. 

As we near Terracina, we pass immense herds of white 
goats. At the town we lunch, give an upward glance at the 
ruins of Theodoric’s Castle, on the top of an overhanging 
cliff, and pass immediately into the States of the Church. 
The journey over the Pontine Marshes is most wearisome. 
Fancy a road as straight as an arrow for thirty-six miles, 
bordered with elms and ashes the whole way—pace about 
four and a half miles an hour—a broiling sun overhead, and 
the stirred-up particles of six inches of dust perpetually ac¬ 
companying us; add to this an irresistible desire on the 
part of myself and friend to go to sleep, and provoking hints 

to the contrary from Sir -, lest the malaria from the 

marshes should make a prey of us; and you will have some 
idea of the dreary journey it was. But this malaria, these 
pestilential vapours that one expects to see rising like a 
thick fog out of the marsh, where are they? or do they 
only appear when the heat of the day is passed ? To us, 
through the dusty medium by which we are permitted to 
look out upon these marshes, they have the ajipearance of a 
vast area of pasture-land of the most luxuriant description, 
bounded at no great distance by richly wooded hills on one 
side, and the Mediterranean on the other, and affording 
nourishment to some thousands of buffaloes and other cattle. 
Alas! one significant item in the landscape, or, rather, the 
omission of it, tells of itself the mournful tale. And, indeed, 
were the absence of human abodes less evident, the sickly 
aspect of the one or two dejected-looking individuals we meet 
is sufficiently conclusive as to the quality of the atmosphere. 

A slight relief is afforded by a halt at the supposed site 
of Appii Forum, one of the places to which the “ brethren ” 
came out from Borne to meet Paul,—“ whom, when he saw, 
he thanked God, and took courage.” We can well believe 



ROME. 


83 


the worthy saint. A small inn, on which is written “ Lo- 
canda di Foro Appio ,” now marks the spot, distant from 
the metropolis about fifty miles. Cisterna, the other place 
named by the apostle as “ the Three Taverns,” twenty miles 
further on, is our resting-place for the night. 

May 19th .—Starting early again, the ground we now 
enter upon grows more and more classic as we approach 
Rome ; and “ Murray ,” as a matter of course, grows propor¬ 
tionately learned and prolix. We even ourselves endeavour 
to brush up a little school Latin for the occasion, and try 
with all our might to remember something of the Yolscians 
and Etruscans, and of their long struggles with the Romans 
just about here. 

There is one satisfaction in this part of the country you 
do not have at Naples. There, when you look at a hill, for 
all you know to the contrary, it may have been a valley or 
level ground some centuries ago; but here, thanks to the 
absence of volcanoes, the mere outline of the country, at all 
events, is precisely what it was to the ancients. 

Velletri, through which we presently pass, is a consider¬ 
able town, famed for its wine and the beauty of its women ; 
but we were only alive to its poverty and dirt. Some¬ 
where about this jfiace we had to harness an extra quadruped 
or two to drag us up a steep hill, from the summit of 
which the view is magnificent. Looking backwards over 
our previous route, almost the whole of the Campagna lay 
spread out before us, including the Pontine Marshes , 
bounded by the Circcean Mount, 40 miles distant, and the 
snow-capped range of the Central Apennines. 

At Qenzano we descended to visit the Lake of Nemi and 
the fountain of the nymph Egeria, whose grief on the death 
of Numa moved the compassion of Diana to convert her into 
a fountain. This we were unable to find; but Nemi itself, 
with the little town upon its margin, is of all the lakes we 
have seen the softest and most romantic—“ navelled,” as 
Byron has it, “in the woody hills.” Re-entering the car¬ 
riage, we cross a deep and beautiful ravine by means of an 
aqueduct made by the present Pope, and this brings us to 
Albano, the “Richmond” of Rome. We lunch at the Hotel de 


84 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


VEurope, which the Empress of Russia has just quitted, after 
a few days’ sojourn. This notable fact the happy proprietor 
has already commemorated by a lengthy inscription on a 
marble slab let into the wall. The picturesque beauty of 
the Lake Albano is more vaunted even than that of Nemi, 
but of the two I prefer the latter. Alba Longa, Latium’s 
powerful capital, once skirted its shores. Remnants of the 
walls, and of the Temple of Jupiter, even now exist, and the 
Pope has a palace at one end of it. 

A short interval of 12 miles only now separates us from the 
“ Eternal City; ” and it will be readily conceived that from 
the moment the first dim outline of St. Peter’s became visible 
our interest in all intervening objects grew fainter and 
fainter. I just have a feeble recollection of that vast unin¬ 
habited plain of the Campagna, grimly adorned with the 
ruins of monumental tombs and aqueducts, and then our 
lumbering old vehicle rolls heavily under the archway of the 
Porta San Giovanni, past the mighty Coliseum and the shat¬ 
tered columns of the Forum, along the Corso, and finally 
stops at the Hotel de VAngleterre, much to the comfort, it 
will be believed, of our poor, bewildered senses. 

May 20th .—Our first day in Borne ! What a crowd of 
old-world memories rush into mind at the bare mention of 
the name ! What a mingled history of grandeur and degra¬ 
dation—of noble aspirations in early youth—of a vigorous, 
but at length too highly civilised, manhood, degenerating at 
last into a reprobate old age ! And this is the quondam 
“Mistress of the World!” Mistress in a double sense— 
first, as the proud arbiter of the destinies of nations; second, 
as the “woman in scarlet,” whose blandishments have lured 
the kings and the mighty ones of the earth to their ruin ! 
Old Rome is gone, and the monuments of her greatness w r ill 
soon be crumbled into dust. Unlike the Phoenix, she cannot 
boast of a virgin life; but let us hope she may still resemble 
that marvellous bird by rising from her own ashes to a new T 
and more glorious state of existence than before. 

At this time of the year, wRen so many people are on the 
move, the first thing to be attended to on arriving in any 
town, provided your stay will not be a long one, is to 


HOME. 


85 


make arrangements for going away—places by tbe dili¬ 
gence being often booked a fortnight or even three weeks in 
advance. 

At a season when, as the Romans say, only dogs and 
Englishmen are to be seen in the streets, and when the first 
setting in of the summer heats is, to say the least of it, a 
sad hindrance to one’s personal comfort and enjoyment, we 
were little disposed, it will be imagined, to make a long stay. 
We therefore secured two places in the interieur of the 
diligence for Siena —to start at 5 A.Mrron the following 
Monday. This settled, we run about in search of a certain 
physician to whom S. has a letter; find he has gone with 
the rest of the world southwards; but are directed to a 
friend of his, Signor Garafolini, who sketches out a pro¬ 
gramme for the next two days. 

St. Peter’s naturally stands at the top of the list, and to it 
we hasten. Over the yellow Tiber , by the Ponte S. Angelo , 
with its ten “ministering spirits” erect on the parapets— 
past that gigantic mausoleum of the Emperor Hadrian, and 
in two minutes we are standing in the centre of a magnificent 
circular colonnaded area, which forms the outer vestibule of 
the mighty Duomo. To be brief, I may say at once that the 
exterior vastly disappointed us both. The bilious complexion 
of the masonry, as contrasted with the venerable grey stone 
of our St. Paul’s, with which we naturally compared it, 
much disconcerted us; and the facade was so lofty as almost 
entirely to eclipse the dome. The heavy balconies which 
intersect the columns of the faqade are a great disfigure¬ 
ment to it; but as they were considered indispensable for 
benedictory purposes on certain great occasions, let the 
great Infallibles bear the blame: as also for the extension 
of the original Greek cross into a Latin one—a caprice of 
Paul Y., in order that the sacred shrines of the old Basilica 
might fall within the walls of the new one. So, to please 
the Popes, we have an ugly faqade , an elongated cross, and 
a foreshortened dome. When we come to the interior, how¬ 
ever, we must alter our tone, and confess that the three and 
a half centuries which were occupied in bringing the whole 
structure to perfection have resulted in the most glorious 


86 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


ecclesiastical monument the world can boast ; not to mention 
that other important fact to us, as Protestants, yiz., that the 
excess to which the scale of indulgences was carried by Popes 
Julius II. and Leo X. in order to meet the expenses of the 
works, was the origin of that reaction which led to our 
Reformation. The cost from first to last is estimated at 
upwards of ten millions sterling. And yet it is singular 
that the first impression on walking up the nave is one of 
disappointment to almost every one. Such is the exquisite 
symmetry of its proportions, and so colossal are the statues, 
which one is apt unconsciously to use as standards of com¬ 
parison, that it is almost impossible at first to realise its 
immensity. Indeed, it is only after a long series of wan¬ 
derings from chapel to chapel, each of which is in itself a 
small church, and from one monument to another, that the 
visitor is at all able to appreciate the majesty and costly 
beauty of the edifice. Or we may, if we choose, accept Childe 
Harold’s philosoj)hy on the subject:— 

“ Enter : its grandeur overwhelms thee not; 

And why ? it is not lessened; but thy mind, 

Expanded by the genius of the spot, 

Has grown colossal, and can only find 
A fit abode wherein appear enshrined 
Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou 
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined 
See thy God, face to face, as thou dost now 
His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow.” 

So much for our first visit to St. Peter's. To describe the 
monuments in detail would be tedious; and as to the pomps 
and vanities of the Easter ceremonies, over which every 
traveller who witnesses them is bound to grow ecstatic, 
having been denied that privilege ourselves, silence, we 
think, best becomes us. Albeit, before we leave, one little 
bit of sarcasm is hard to resist. Just glance for a moment at 
that hideous example of sculpture which disfigures one side 
of the nave. It is a brazen effigy of the patron saint, and 
as sitting is at all times more dignified than standing, this is 
the posture assumed. One foot projects, or rather used to 
project, beyond the pedestal, until—alas for the vanity of 


ROME. 


87 


human art!—the osculatory devotion of ages has at length 
shorn it of at least one half of its five extremities. Are the 
Romish priests acquainted with that useful instrument which 
we term a file P and if so, is there any connection between 
such a circumstance and the deformity alluded to ? 

The Rectory House, or, as it is called in Rome , the 
Vatican , is on terms of the closest intimacy with the church 
—adjoins it, that is to say; but as the task of perambulating 
its thousand and one decorated chambers under about ninety 
degrees of Fahrenheit is rather a formidable one, we defer it 
till a more convenient opportunity. The Coliseum is a more 
fitting object of contemplation for such a day. We seat 
ourselves on one of the ancient benches which rise up¬ 
wards from the arena, and travel back in memory to that 
savage epoch when thousands of Christian martyrs, wild 
beasts, and gladiators perished within its walls. Like St. 
Peter’s, we find it is only by a slow process of gazing and 
comparing with surrounding objects that we are at all able 
to realise its stupendous dimensions. Three simple facts 
will convey a better idea of its capacity than any figures of 
mere measurement. 1st. In its perfect state it was capable 
of accommodating 87,000 spectators. 2nd. Although still 
one of the most colossal ruins in the world, it has already 
supplied material for three large palaces, and several smaller 
edifices. 3rd. Up to the present time no fewer than 400 
different species of plants have been discovered within its 
area. Add to this the well-authenticated fact that two- 
thirds of the original building have entirely disappeared, and 
you will have some faint idea of the gigantic notions of 
construction the old Romans possessed. 

From the Coliseum we mount up to the old Capitol , bestow¬ 
ing a note of special admiration on that wonderful equestrian 
statue of Marcus Aurelius. “ Cammina!” (March!) said 
Michael Angelo, unconsciously, when he first saw it. We 
leave the museum here for another time; and with a peep 
at the Tarpeian Rock close by, whence prisoners convicted of 
the highest offences were hurled to death, we terminate our 
lionising for to-day. 

May 21st .—Proceed quite early to the tower of the Capitol, 


88 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


a bird’s-eye view from it being considered one of the 
essentials to a proper digest of tbe city. It is truly a 
suggestive prospect. On one side lies tbe modern city, with 
its Quirinal, Vatican, churches, palaces, streets, and squares; 
on the other the ancient one, with its stern old relics of 
imperial days—its Forum, Coliseum, Palace of the Ccesars, 
temples, baths, triumphal arches, tombs, and once populous, 
but now desolate Campagna; while the seven “Eternal” 
hills are shared by both.- It was a vain-glorious boast of 
the old Romans that as long as the hills stood Rome should 
endure. What a sad comment upon this now lies beneath 
us! And in the face of the mighty revolution which has 
here taken place, what nation now vaunting the stability of 
its institutions, and rejoicing in an uninterrupted flow of 
opulence and power, shall presume to say that a change 
may not come P In reviewing the past, Christianity seems to 
have fallen like a blight on this quondam empire of the 
world. Unless, therefore, the Christianity of the present 
age be of a higher tone than that of the past, what guarantee 
have we for the permanent prosperity of those nations who 
now parade it before the world as their watchword and 
armour of defence ? 

We have undertaken rather a serious task to-day. We 
propose to do the churches. And as this is an Americanism, 
we hire a carriage by the hour, and drive about furiously 
from church to church in the orthodox Yankee style. 
St. John Lateran, one of the seven Basilicas of Rome, and 
the second in importance after St. Peter’s, pleases us the 
most. Note, that the name Basilica was originally given to 
the public tribunal or courts of justice under the later 
period of the empire, and that the early Christians both 
appropriated these already existing edifices to their own 
public worship, and built others like them, retaining the 
ancient name. There is a combination of grandeur and sim¬ 
plicity about this class of building which is better adapted 
to its object, I think, than any other. The form is oblong, 
consisting of a nave and two side aisles, the latter separated 
from the former by a row of columns, from which spring 
arches across to the high wall that supports the wooden roof. 


ROME. 


89 


Holy Thursday, on which we have unwittingly alighted, is 
evidently a gala day for the favourite apostle; his church 
is full of cardinals and priests in scarlet, and purple, 
and gold, not to mention an equal number of gaudy domes¬ 
tics following their respective masters. And as to what was 
going forward in the way of divine (?) service—chiefly in the 
neighbourhood of the choir—it reminded me of nothing so 
much as of one of those gorgeous court scenes in Shake¬ 
speare, as Kean used to elaborate them at the “ Princess’s”— 
say, for example, the trial of Queen Katherine in Henry the 
Eighth —only that, of the two, the theatrical display was, I 
think, a trifle the most dignified and decorous. The Pope 
ought to have been here, but the carnival was too much for 
him, and he has retired to Ancona to recruit. There is a 
magnificent chapel here belonging to the Corsini family, in 
a vault beneath which we were shown a most touching Pietd 
in marble by Montanti; we thought it even superior to 
Buonarotti’s in the hospital at Genoa. 

Adjo ini ng San Giovanni are the Scala Santa —a flight of 
twenty-eight marble steps, esteemed by the faithful as identi¬ 
cally those which our Lord descended in coming from the 
judgment hall of Pilate. On this particular day the number 
of pious Catholics of all ages who ascend them on their 
knees, repeating at every step I know not how many Ave 
Marias and Pater Hosiers, is prodigious. For the devout and 
the infirm the whole business occupies about two hours; but 
the young urchin, to whom it seems a great bore and sad 
waste of time, will get through the work in less than half an 
hour. 

The Pantheon, with which every one is more or less 
familiar, is the best preserved relic of ancient Rome. Its 
portico, as every schoolboy knows, is the most perfect model 
of Pagan art in existence. To this, in all good faith, we 
assent. But the interior surely is open to criticism. After 
that superb specimen of ornate art which we have just been 
gazing on in St. John Lateran, it is as though, having feasted 
off the lordly haunch of venison, one should present to us 
the ancient leg of mutton. The roof is hemispherical—a 
shallow basin, with a large hole in the bottom, reversed— 


90 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


the said aperture being doubtless an original idea of the 
heathen architect for propitiating the gods, by allowing 
them to scent from their abode in the clouds the delicious 
savour of the dainty joints which were sacrificed below. 

At II Gesu, the principal church of the Jesuits, we heard 
some exquisite music, but of a kind that in England one is 
more familiar with at the opera than in a church. 

The public gardens on Mount Pincio, where I took a 
solitary stroll in the evening, are very pleasant. People of 
all classes, both in carriages and on foot, throng to them on 
a fine evening; and the views over town and suburbs are of 
a character unsurpassed by those from any other eminence 
in the city. I am fortunate, moreover, in meeting with 
Signor Garafolini, whose assistance yesterday in drawing 
up for us our modus operandi was so valuable, and now he 
wanders about with me for two whole hours, pointing out 
the principal palaces, columns, fountains, &c. 

May 22nd .—My friend S. being a victim to the heat, the 
Major and I set out, after an early breakfast, for St. Peter's ; 
and, ascertaining that half-past ten is the latest hour at 
which the copper ball surmounting the dome can be entered 
with impunity at this time of the year, on account of the heat, 
we immediately commence the ascent. On the walls of the 
broad spiral staircase leading to the first gallery, are 
recorded on tablets the names of the illustrissimi who have 
accomplished the feat. Our ambition thus fired, we get over 
the first part without difficulty, and look down with asto¬ 
nishment on the pigmies who are creeping about the aisles 
below. A little higher, about half way up the interior of the 
dome, a small gallery affords us the opportunity of disabusing 
our minds of an illusion touching the mosaics with which it 
is covered, and which, from below, look like brilliant frescoes. 
But they are here revealed to us in all their native coarse¬ 
ness as rude mosaics composed of pieces of stone three-quarters 
of an inch long by one-half an inch broad, and arranged, 
moreover, with about the same degree of regularity and 
evenness of surface, as pebbles in a road. The summum bonum 
of our desires, the ball, is reached by a small iron ladder in 
a cylinder about a foot in diameter. Through this, not with- 


ROME. 


91 


out difficulty, I contrived to penetrate into the brazen sphere, 
above which is only the gilt cross, some sixteen feet in 
height. Sixteen persons are said to have breakfasted here ; 
but it must have been at a much less advanced period of the 
year, inasmuch as I could not hold my hand for more than a 
few seconds on the surface of the copper. The Major re¬ 
mained at the bottom of the cylinder, avowing himself not 
at all curious, and perfectly satisfied at the correctness of my 
assertions. But I took a quiet survey of his somewhat cor¬ 
pulent person, and drew my own conclusions accordingly. 
On the way down again, our cicerone took us on to the roof 
from which the dome springs. Here some seven or eight 
small tenements for the accommodation of the inferior officers 
of the church have been erected—a fact which, better than 
any other feature about the whole edifice, I think, gives one 
an idea of its stupendous dimensions. The entire area of the 
cathedral is about six acres, and, from the pavement to the 
top of the cross, 448 feet, exceeding St. Paul’s, therefore, by 
44 feet. 

Once more in the body of the church, we do our best, in 
the short time we are able to devote to it, to improve our 
acquaintance with a few of its most remarkable mosaics and 
monuments. And I may as well say briefly, that, of the 
latter, the only two which have made any lasting impression 
on my memory, are Canova’s monument of the Stuarts, and 
a truly superb one by the same sculptor of Clement XIII. 
The first of these represents the entrance to a mausoleum; 
and, although grand in its simplicity, and guarded albeit by 
a pair of winged genii, is simply memorable to me from the 
names with which it is associated, and from the gravity of 
the Latin inscription which informs you that the spot is 
sacred to the memory of “ James the Third, Charles the 
Third, and Henry the Ninth, Kings of England ”—“ names 
which,” as Lord Mahon says, “ an Englishman can scarcely 
read without a smile or a sigh ! ” Nor does it add much to 
one’s reverence for the spot to be told that the chief expense 
of this monument was defrayed from the privy purse of 
George IV. That of Clement XIII., with its praying figure 
of the Pope, its genius of Death with an inverted torch, of 


t 


92 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Religion with the cross, and the two recumbent lions, is so 
well known, and so universally admired, as to need no 
comment. 

We next enter the Vatican, and devote an hour to some 
of the most celebrated pictures in the world. Here we have 
in one room Raphael’s chef -d’oeuvre, the “ Transfiguration,” 
Titian’s “St. Sebastian,” Domenichino’s “St. Jerome,” and 
Raphael’s “Madonna da Foligno.” The first of these is 
indeed a marvellous production. There is that about 
Raphael’s pictures which fixes and absorbs the attention in 
a manner no others do. Truthfulness of conception, grace 
in outline, a charm in the grouping of the figures, and 
an intense reality and potency of expression, are the chief 
characteristics of his productions. In this picture of the 
“Transfiguration,” his choice of subject for the foreground 
is of a less attractive nature than is usual with him; but it 
is so faithfully treated that the imagination is led captive 
none the less; and as the eye wanders from the agonised 
girl and her possessed brother to the bewildered figures of 
the apostles, and then looks upward to that glorious appari¬ 
tion, towards which three of them are eagerly pointing 
as the only quarter whence aid may be expected, we feel 
that none but a genius like Raphael’s could have dealt so 
tenderly and winningly with such a subject. One would 
prefer to have had the upper portion of the picture a little 
more visionary perhaps, but this can readily be forgiven 
when we consider the substantial quality of the moral con¬ 
veyed. Of the other pictures in this room, Raphael’s 
“Madonna da Foligno” is the one I most admire. It is 
of a tender, loveable character—not an exceptionable object 
in it; and the face of the Madonna is the most beautiful 
he ever painted. Titian’s “St. Sebastian” I could not 
admire as the Major told me I ought to do ; and my regard 
for the “ Last Communion of St. Jerome,” by Domenichino, 
is considerably lessened since I have seen one by Agostino 
Caracci in the Bolognese Gallery, of which it appears to be 
simply a magnificent and highly spiritualised copy. From 
this chamber of grand paintings we wandered through an 
apparently interminable series of apartments and corridors 


ROME. 


93 


filled with sculptures and a variety of art-treasures. Here 
are the “Apollo Belvidere” and the “Laocoon,” two master¬ 
pieces of Grecian art which alone would suffice to establish 
the reputation of any collection. Apropos of the latter, by- 
the-bye, and apart from criticism, what induced the artist 
to represent the old man’s sons as two little men instead of 
two boys P In one gallery there seems no end to the busts 
of Csesars, and Trojans, and Hadrians, to say nothing of a 
perfect galaxy of female beauties. Then, farther on, are a 
number of Greek and Latin inscription^. rudely carved on 
slabs, memorials of some of the early Christian martyrs 
whose dust lies down in the catacombs. All these and other 
objects are a feast of four hours to us, and even then the 
Major, worthy soul, is far from sated, and would, I verily 
believe, like to have it all over again. I omitted to record, 
however, in reference to the chamber of masterpieces, 
that it was not without difficulty we obtained access to it, 
this being the identical week in the whole year during which 
it is closed to the public for cleansing and other purposes. 

But, as Sir-confidentially remarked, on occasions of this 

kind there are always two publics—‘ ‘ the public who will avail 
themselves of the magic silver-key or palm-oil , and the public 
who won’t.” I need scarcely say we were of the former 
category. The famous Sixtine Chapel , the last of the thou- 
sand-and-one rooms to which we were admitted, disappointed 
us both. The mural decorations, once its chief attraction, 
are so impaired by age and the smoke of tapers, that one is 
far more inclined to accept it as the gloomy judgment hall 
of a Leo or a Gregory. The great fresco of the ‘ ‘ Last 
Judgment,” which Michael Angelo commenced in his sixtieth 
year, and did not finish till he was sixty-eight, is indeed a 
marvellous composition—bold in design, and wondrous in 
execution: but why, in the name of all that is holy and 
scriptural, does he represent the loving Saviour of mankind 
as little better than a vindictive monster denouncing judg¬ 
ment on his enemies, who are writhing in all sorts of dis¬ 
gusting tortures beneath his feet ? It is true that in one 
part of the picture the other side of the question is feebly 
contrasted with all this; but I can only say that if Roman 



94 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Catholics require such gross caricaturing of the unseen 
things to stimulate their devotion, I wish them better taste, 
and a more truthful idea of the unchangeable Redeemer. It 
would be hardly fair, however, to Michael Angelo to omit 
mention of one little incident connected with this master¬ 
piece of his. Paul IV., during whose pontificate it was 
finished, objected to the nudity of the figures, and wished 
the whole to be destroyed. “ Tell the Pope,” said the artist, 
‘ ‘ that this is but a small affair, and easily to be remedied; 
let him reform the world, and the pictures will reform 
themselves.” 

We have just time before table d’hote for a hurried visit 
to the Capitol. Here lies the “Dying Gladiator,” the 
most life-like piece of art we have seen. There is also a 
Venus of great merit, another little army of Imperial busts, 
and the celebrated “Doves of Pliny,” an exquisite mosaic 
in natural stones. The Picture Gallery we agreed to pass 
by, being perfectly satisfied with the feast we had had in that 
way at the Vatican in the morning. Friend S. we find has 
recovered a little, and joins us at table d’hote, where is a com¬ 
pany of nearly fifty. S. and I complete the day’s lionising 
by going with Signor Garafolini to the studios of Tadolini 
and Gibson, and to a manufactory of mosaics in the Piazza 
di Spagna. Here we learn for the first time—so lamentable 
is our ignorance on the subject—that the Roman mosaics 
are made, not of real stones, but of a composite material 
which is prepared in very thin narrow strips of various lengths, 
and of every conceivable shade of colour. In the manufac¬ 
ture of brooches and other small ornaments, strips of the 
requisite colour are inserted side by side with the nicest 
accuracy into a bed of cement; then broken off to a rough 
level, and smoothed afterwards. “Pliny’s Doves” and the 
“ Coliseum ” appear to be the two subjects most in demand. 
At Gibson’s studio we are introduced to the “ Tinted Venus,” 
and are enraptured with everything but the colour. It was 
a novelty then; and although the author of the experiment 
is said to have been charmed with the result, its tardy recog¬ 
nition by contemporary sculptors in the long interval which 
has since elapsed must rather have cooled his enthusiasm. 



ROME. 


do 


May 23rd .—We have seen one of the best specimens of a 
Roman nobleman’s palace to-day—viz., the Palazzo Colonna. 
It boasts one of the largest and most magnificent salons in 
the world, and contains a collection of pictures which at one 
time was second in number and importance to no other in 
Rome, but has since been greatly weeded by the numerous 
scattered representatives of the name. The only satisfactory 
picture to me was a portrait of Vittoria Colonna—a most 
lovely face. She was to Buonarotti what Beatrice was to 
Dante, and was worshipped with even a purer love. She lost 
her husband early, in the battle of Pavia, but remained 
constant to his memory till death. The Doria and Borghese 
Palaces were closed, or we should have seen them also. The 
Palazzo Barberini, in which is Guido’s celebrated memorial 
portrait of Beatrice Cenci, by some unaccountable means 
we had altogether forgotten in our programme; but so many 
excellent copies of this touching picture are to be seen in 
Rome, that we regretted the omission less than we might 
otherwise have done. We paid a third visit to the Vatican 
to see Henry VIII.’s love-letters to Anne Boleyn, his refuta¬ 
tion of Luther’s doctrines, and other manuscripts, for which, 
however, we were obliged to have recourse to the same 
odious practice that procured us an entrance to the gallery 
of masterpieces yesterday. 

In the evening Signor Garafolini drove us to the new Basi¬ 
lica of St. Paul's, outside the gates—one of the most simply 
grand and majestic of the Roman churches, if it be allowed to 
remain as it is, and is not ruined by such exaggerated orna¬ 
mentation as disfigures the majority of the older ecclesiastical 
edifices. Not far from here, and in close proximity to the 
ponderous pyramid of Caius Cestius, we turned aside into 
the quiet little Protestant burial-ground, memorable chiefly 
to Englishmen for the tombs of two young brother poets, 
Shelley and Keats ; the simple inscription of “ Cor Cordium ” 
on the stone which marks the grave of the former having- 
reference probably to the fact that his heart was the only 
portion which the fire left untouched when his body was 
burnt on the shore of the Gulf of Spezzia. A still deeper 
attraction to our Italian friend was the grave ot his own 


96 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE. NOTES. 


wife, an English lady, with, whom he had spent twenty of 
the happiest years of his life in our own country; his 
emotion in pointing it out to us did not certainly diminish 
the regard we already had for him. 

May 24 th. —The Protestant Church, like the cemetery, is 
without the barrier ; a sample of Eomish intolerance which 
excites one’s pity rather than anger. The Jews are treated 
with still less consideration as regards their daily life— 
a population of some 6,000 or 7,000 of them being cooped 
up, and pretty strictly guarded, within a wretched labyrinth 
of dirty streets in the middle of the city, called the Ghetto , 
or Jews’ Quarter. After service we strolled for some time 
about the Gardens of the Pincian Hill close by; the remainder 
of the interval until dinner-time being passed beneath a 
colonnade with such a pluvial prospect as only Rome can 
offer. In about ten minutes the streets and squares are all 
deluged. We think London tolerably well provided -with 
the watery element, but Eome, they say, is still more 
abundantly blessed with it than our own great city, only 
the supply comes at rarer intervals. 

Signor Garafolini dined with us, and we drove out in the 
cool of the evening to visit a few more churches. One of the 
finest in Eome is Santa Maria degli Angeli , of the Greek 
cross form ; and in it lie, as we were assured, the mortal 
remains of Salvator Eosa. It was a great blow to the 
worthy verger to be informed by our friend of the fact 
that this honour was but shared with two other churches— 
the bow T els of the saintly painter being in one, the head and 
body in another, and consequently the arms and legs only 
in this. In such matters the Eoman Catholics are staunch 
anti-monopolists, and think nothing of cutting up the bodies 
of saints into several portions in order that their sacred 
influences may be more extended. St. Peter and St. Paul 
have both been dealt with in this way. St. Pietro in Vincoli, 
another fine church, contains Buonarotti’s celebrated colossal 
Moses, a magnificent specimen of the genus homo , but rather 
of the gross Herculean type, unless, indeed, the artist has 
forestalled in his beau ideal the modern “muscular Christian.” 

We wandered once more over the solemn ruins of the 


ROME. 


97 


Coliseum, took a farewell survey of the surrounding wreck 
of past magnificence, with the feeling that a week in Rome was 
but enough to whet the appetite, and tempt us to make rash 
promises of a speedy return. 

The contrast between Rome and Naples at this season 
of the year is immense. The reaction after the bustling 
excitement of the carnival week is comparable to nothing 
I ever heard of. The difference between term-time and 
vacation in one of our university towns can give one no 
idea of it. Not only the visitors who jcpme specially for 
the festivities of the carnival, but half the resident popula¬ 
tion into the bargain, have gone off either into the country 
or to the seaside; and the w'hole city seems to have settled 
down into a condition of utter indolence and stagnation. 
Naples, on the contrary, is now in the palmy zenith of 
its glory. Even at the least prosperous period of the 
year there is no lack of bustle and commercial activity ; but 
just now, what with the prodigious influx of strangers and 
the increased amount of shipping, that beautiful, albeit 
dirty and ill-paved, town must be suffering from repletion 
to a painful extent. But then the redundant population 
very soon drafts itself away to the lovely sea-coast villages 
of Sorrento, Salerno, Castellamare, or Amalfi, where the 
baiminess of the sea breezes and the inexhaustible beauties 
of the surrounding scenery soon render one oblivious to all 
temporary discomforts. Whereas Rome for the next few 
months would be intolerable to any but a downright Stoic or 
an enthusiastic lover of antiquities. Even the “Eternal 
City,” therefore, is not always the most attractive place in 
the world; the Supreme Pontiff does all he can to make it 
so, and has just raised a magnificent monument to com¬ 
memorate that wonderful discovery of the ‘ * Immaculate 
Conception of the Virgin.” After being a disputed point for 
three hundred years, this doctrine is now incorporated into 
the articles of Faith of the Eomish Church, and is the great 
spiritual invention by which Rio N0710 celebrates his Pontifi¬ 
cate. His grand political act is still in embryo, although 
that doubtless will shortly appear; it being a rule binding 
upon all these rulers to distinguish their reign by two great 

H 


98 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


works which shall represent the two-fold nature of their 
office. English and Irish priests muster in strong force 
here, and are chiefly remarkable, so oUr friend says, for the 
conceited air of martyrdom they put on, and the universal 
contempt with which they are regarded. There may be much 
to admire in the tenets of the Church of Eome as they are 
understood by the more enlightened among its members ; 
but where only the externals of the system have been 
adopted, as it is to be feared is the case with many English 
converts, its aspect is simply contemptible. 

In a visit of five days one can make but a very imperfect 
acquaintance with a place like Rome, and yet we feel that 
the experience of that notable old lady from the circuit of 
Bow Bells, who said that ‘ ‘ no doubt it was a fine city, but 
that many of the public buildings were sadly out of repair,” 
falls considerably short of our own on the same subject. 


CHAPTER VII. 

FLORENCE. 

May 26th. —The last two days have been taken up with 

the journey to Florence. Sir-wished us to join him 

again in a carriage, but although his offer was a most liberal 
one, and the attentions of his courier all that could be desired, 
there was a kind of freemasonry between the latter and the 
hotel keepers along the road which was inconveniently evident 
in our bills. At the expense, therefore, of missing the Falls of 
Terni, which the major’s proposed route would have included, 
we decided in favour of the diligence and Siena, an old cathedral 
town well worth a visit. We had taken places in the interieur 
of the diligence, but in order to accommodate fellow-passengers 
changed these for one in the coupe, the best part of the 
vehicle, and another in the banquette above, a sort of cabriolet 
elevated on the roof, and projecting a little over the horses; 
the entire machine being an awkward compound of a coach, 
an omnibus, and the above-named cabriolet. S., being 




FLORENCE. 


99 


delicate in the chest, took the coupe, leaving me tho banquette , 
which is decidedly the most agreeable in fine weather. For 
travelling companion I have a Eussian, who talks English 
like a native. S. had a Corsican lady, bound, like our c 
selves, for Florence , and a very amiable old Eoman priest 
with three boxes of snuff and a bagful of comfits. The 
road generally is uninteresting. Brigands, however, are 
plentiful enough, if we may infer anything from the pair of 
mounted dragoons who trot on in front of us at frequent 
intervals. In one savage spot the conductor shows us where 
this same diligence had been stopped two years before by 
four men. They take nothing but money for fear of detec¬ 
tion ; but if you refuse them this, they shoot you without 
the slightest hesitation. At one long hill, where we had 
eight horses and two oxen, the cold mountain air and a 
thick white mist we were passing through induced my com¬ 
panion and myself to get down and walk, an exercise which 
we pursued far into the night, much to the discomfort, as we 
afterwards discovered, of the fair Corsican, who, through a 
medium of glass and fog, had mistaken us during her wakeful 
intervals for a pair of brigands. 

We reached Siena , without further adventure, about 
mid-day, after a ride of thirty hours. The town lies 
high, has a quaint old-world look about it, and is considered 
very healthy as a summer residence, for which reason I sup¬ 
pose it is largely frequented by our countrymen. We visited 
the Cathedral, Baptistery, and Hospital, of which the latter 
interested us the most. “ Cleanliness is next to godliness ” 
was evidently its motto; but the sick rooms, at least many of 
them, were sadly deficient in ventilation. 

The rail took us on from here to Florence, where we 
arrived between seven and eight the same evening. S. must 
certainly have made an impression on his fair companion, 
since she volunteered to conduct us to a hostelry where she 
purposed staying for two or three days, and where we 
should fare equally well as at the most expensive hotels, for 
about half the cost. This was the Hotel and Restaurant 
De la Lune , close to the Ducal Palace, and the lady’s asser¬ 
tion was fully borne out by our experience. 


4 




100 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


May 28th .—To vary the monotony of a daily record, it 
may be as well here to generalise a little more, and give a less 
disjointed account of this most interesting city. Of all 
Italian towns Florence is the one I should select for a per¬ 
manent abode. Naples has its scenery and antiquities, Rome 
its antiquities also, Leghorn its commercial activity, and 
Siena its bracing air; but Florence has all these combined, 
with the additional advantage of a certain honhommie and 
gaiety about the inhabitants, which, if you do not care to 
join, you may at least reap the benefit of, in the air of 
external joyousness which everywhere surrounds you. Take 
a drive, for instance, about 5 o’clock in the afternoon—as we 
did more than once—to the public promenade, the Cascine , 
as it is called; the “ Rotten Row,” in fact, of Florence. 
Here you will see an apparently endless stream of prome- 
naders d cheval et en voiture. The equipages generally are 
finer than are met with at any other town on the Continent. 
On the evenings when the military band plays there is a 
grand musterin a large open space fronting the Grand Duke’s 
suburban villa. The scene is quite a novel one to us. It is 
a species of monster al fresco conversazione. The young 
men of ton thread their way through the labyrinth of 
vehicles from one fair acquaintance to another, until the 
Grand Duke and his suite make their appearance in open 
carriages drawn by six horses, and after one or two friendly 
visits lead the way back into the town and to the theatre. 
A Florentine’s day is thus apportioned:—He takes a cup of 
coffee at rising (which is not over early), dinner about 
2 o’clock, siesta, coffee, promenade, theatre, supper, visits 
and reunions, to bed about 4 a.m. The “flower-girl” is 
even a greater institution here than at Naples. There is 
more art about her in every way. She is almost invariably 
good-looking, and displays more tact in the prosecution of 
her trade. She frequents the purlieus of the principal 
hotels, and constitutes herself your good attendant spirit 
from the very day of your arrival. Going and coming, she 
is ever there to greet you with a smile; she soon discovers 
the cafes you frequent, and rarely fails either at breakfast or 
at dinner to present you with a bouquet. She asks for nothing 


FLORENCE. 


101 


in return, but if you stay there many days the probability 
is that the impression she has created will tell substantially 
in her favour at your departure. And then what a soft 
mellifluous tongue is hers! They have a saying here, 
Lingua Toscana in Bocca Romana. Such a combination must 
be music itself if it can beat the Tuscan tongue from Tuscan 
lips. Florentine society, according to report, is more exclu¬ 
sive and inaccessible than that of any other Continental 
city. And if the mere external reflection of it is so 
fascinating to the passing traveller, jqirely it is in the 
bosom of that society itself, if anywhere, that the “ elixir 
of life ” should reside. 

To turn from the outward social life of the city to the art- 
gems it contains: one’s first inquiry, I think, generally is 
for the pictures, of which the Pitti Palace and the Uffizi 
Gallery are the two principal repositories. And here the 
first impulse of the youthful critic is to rush from one great 
work to another; going into ecstacies over this, and dogma¬ 
tising with all the authority of a master over that; affording 
only amusement to those whom his remarks are intended to 
edify, and, at the same time, in all probability, lamentably 
exposing his own ignorance. I shall endeavour to avoid this 
error for two reasons. First, any one has a fair excuse for 
saving himself unnecessary labour ; and, secondly, he is sure 
of the gratitude of his friends. For all this, however, a 
gallery like that of Florence is not to be dismissed by any¬ 
body without a word; and if I do not name another picture, 
I must state my own opinion about what everybody speaks of 
as the gem of the whole collection, viz., the “ Madonna della 
Seggiola.” I show, doubtless, great ignorance, but this is 
to me one of the least successful of Raphael's Madonnas. 
There is a disagreeable expression in the eyes, and a sensuous 
turn to the mouth, which one dares not associate with the 
face of the Blessed Virgin; and it is astonishing to me that 
connoisseurs in their remarks are so taken up with the per¬ 
fection of outline and colour displayed in the whole picture, 
as to be blind to this one striking defect. The other great 
boast of Florence is the statue called the “ Venus di Medici,” 
in a chamber of the Uffizi Gallery , known as the Tribune. 


102 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE -NOTES. 


In symmetry and grace of outline it is no doubt faultless, 
but one cannot help wishing that the features had been less 
matronly. 

In this same palace are two rooms filled with the portraits 
of artists, painted either by themselves or their contempora¬ 
ries—a truly valuable addition to the collection, and one 
which is possessed by no other gallery in Europe that I am 
aware of. But if you would see art “ pure and undefiled,” 
and have your whole being taken captive in the contempla¬ 
tion of it, go and view the divine productions of Era Angelico 
da Fiesoli in the Convent of San Marco. Eor a painter who 
lived in the early part of the 15th century, what marvellous 
beauty of outline in many of the figures—what intensity of 
expression in all, whether saints and angels, or bad men and 
devils, although he evidently never depicted the latter from 
choice ! To a soul so deeply imbued with the Divine life, the 
contemplation of anything directly opposed to it must have 
been extremely distasteful; and it may therefore be true, as 
one critic says of him, in remarking on his great work of the 
Last Judgment, that “ he shows weakness just in proportion 
as he tries to produce terror.” His finest works are the 
frescoes painted on the walls of this convent, of which he was 
a member; and such was the earnest piety of his soul, that it 
is said he always commenced his task with prayer; and so 
solemnly did he feel the inspiration under which he worked, 
that he would never alter or efface what he had once painted. 
No wonder, therefore, that at this distant epoch, when in¬ 
spired artists are rare, his works should possess such a strange 
fascination, and that, for some years past, engravers have 
been occupied with them to such good purpose, as at length 
to have produced a collection of forty-eight beautiful out¬ 
lines with descriptive text, about which all Florence is at 
the present moment going quietly mad. I should mention, 
by the bye, that in addition to the frescoes in the convent, he 
is the author of several exquisite compositions in oil, the 
backgrounds in gold; among them a perfect little gem in the 
church of Santa Maria Novella, called the “ Madonna della 
Stella,” and a tryptych, with a border of worshipping angels, 
in another church. 


FLOBENCE. 


103 


From painting to architecture, from art on canvas to art in 
stone, is an easy transit. The architecture of the Italians is 
characteristic of the people—grand, massive, and dignified— 
no shams, no mean stuccoed counterfeits of reality, no paltry 
attempts to cheat the eye by an appearance of magnificence, 
only to disgust it on a nearer inspection; but all is real, sub¬ 
stantial, and good. The founders of the Italian school seem 
to have been men who designed and raised up glorious 
monuments of art, not simply to gain a livelihood, but be¬ 
cause they loved their occupation, and could utilise their 
faculties to the utmost, because little biassed by thought of 
gain or the world’s applause. What an example of this, for 
instance, is that wonderful trio of Cathedral, Bell-Tower, and 
Baptistry ! There is a solemn earnestness about them that 
awes from the first, and a closer acquaintance only confirms 
this feeling. Another obvious peculiarity is, that, like happy 
members of one family, each edifice seems able to rejoice 
in its own special and distinctive characteristics without 
destroying the general harmony of the group. No one, 
I think, would pronounce the Daomo perfect as a sample of 
Italian art; and it is certainly less remarkable for elegance 
than for size. But, on the other hand, Brunelleschi’s pro¬ 
digious cupola claims the proud distinction of being not only 
the largest in the world (with the exception of that of the 
British Museum), but of having served M. Angelo as a 
model for that of St. Peter’s. The exterior is of black and 
white marble, like that of Genoa , which gives it a Moorish 
aspect, and the interior is more than usually sombre from 
the diminutive size of the windows and the dark-coloured 
glass with which they are all filled. But nothing can give 
so good an idea of the vastness of the structure as the ascent 
of the dome. St. Peter’s is some seventy or eighty feet 
higher, perhaps, but the fatigue of getting to the top is not 
to be compared to that of ascending the Duomo of Florence. 
The last thirty or forty feet lie up what may be described, on 
account of the heat, as a small cylindrical stone oven, just 
large enough to admit your person if it be not over corpulent , 
and with a ridiculous little iron ladder let into the stone. 
During the ascent, which is strictly perpendicular, you are 


104 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


haunted by the reflection that one false step renders the 
climber speechless ; but if successful, he at once finds himself 
in the big oven itself, the copper globe. Near the top of this 
you raise a small circular valve, making a hole sufficiently 
large to admit head and shoulders, when, clasping with both 
arms the gilt wooden cross, you have the most splendid 
bird’s-eye view of the city and surrounding country it is 
possible to imagine. 

The delicate proportions of light, parti-coloured masonry 
of the Campanile form a singular contrast to the colossal 
dimensions and sombre tone of the Duomo. Giotto was the 
designer of this, as well as of a portion of the Cathedral. Then, 
as to the Baptistry, every one knows something of Ghiberti’s 
wonderful bronze gates, which have rendered it so famous, 
and which M. Angelo declared “ fit to be the gates of Para¬ 
dise.” The design for them was thrown open to a competi¬ 
tion in which all the first artists of the day contested ; but 
Ghiberti, a comparatively unknown stripling of twenty 
years, won the prize from all. One of them represents the 
principal events in the life of our Lord; and the other, which 
is the more beautiful, is filled with subjects taken from the 
Old Testament, bordered with a framework of figures, flowers, 
and scrolls, alL of the most exquisite forms, and in startling 
relief. One unfortunate artist, by name Andrea Pisano, and 
a man hitherto of no small merit, was allowed to erect a third 
gate, or rather, I should say, it was erected nearly a century 
before the other two; but the striking nature of the contrast 
must have been a death-blow to his posthumous reputation. 

With the exception of these three ecclesiastical edifices, 
however, the churches of Florence generally are not ex¬ 
ternally attractive. There is an untidy, rasped look about 
most of them; indeed, I believe we only saw one of which 
the outer walls might be fairly called finished; but, of the 
interiors, no terms seem strong enough to express the spec¬ 
tator’s astonishment at the blaze of decorative glory, or the 
lavish outlay of costly marbles which meet the eye on en¬ 
tering. Of this latter kind, and one of the richest sights in 
Florence, is the Medicean Chapel in the church of San 
Lorenzo, where the finest marbles and precious stones share 


FLORENCE. 


105 


the whole surface of the walls between them. Here, also, is 
that superb statue of Lorenzo, with personifications of 
Morning and Evening reclining at his feet. 

In the way of Triumphal Arches, the Porta San Gallo , 
covered with statues and groups of sculpture in marble, 
is the handsomest we had, up to that time, seen. Among 
numerous other “ lions ” of this wondrous art-city, it would 
be unpardonable not to pay a visit to the Academia delle 
Belle Arti. It is not large, but contains an extremely inte¬ 
resting series of paintings by the early Tuscan masters— 
Cimabue, Giotto, Taddeo Gaddi, Filippo Lippi, and others, 
whose productions, although not remarkable either for per¬ 
spective, beauty, or brilliancy of colouring, are here rendered 
very instructive from the chronological order in which they 
are arranged. Raphael's master, Pietro Perugino, moreover, 
is present in all his glory of fiddling angels and evenly- 
balanced groupings. His great work of the Assumption 
here is a fair sample, I should say, of the degrading, soulless 
mannerism to which it is possible for an artist to sink when 
the high end of art is lost sight of in the sordid love of gain. 
Fortunately, his school was but a short-lived one, and was 
soon forgotten in that marvellous reaction of Raphaels, 
Michael Angelos, Andrea del Sartos, Guidos, Correggios, 
Caraccis, and a host of others. 

Another sightworthy collection in Florence is the Museum 
of Natural History, where, besides the ordinary objects in 
museums of this kind, is a series of chambers filled with 
anatomical models, exhibiting with wonderful minuteness 
and accuracy every portion of the human body—said to be 
the most perfect collection in the world. Under the same 
building also is a most interesting room dedicated to Galileo 
—ornamented with frescoes representing the principal epochs 
of his life, a fine statue of him in the centre, one of his 
fingers under a glass cover, and his telescopes and other 
instruments arranged in cases round the walls. When I 
mention, in addition to all these, the magnificent collection 
of plate in the Pitti palace belonging to the Grand Duke, 
principally gold, and nearly all worked by Benvenuto Cel¬ 
lini; the Boboli gardens at the back of the palace, with 


106 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


their long, shady walks and stately terraces adorned with 
statues, rising one above the other to a height from which 
one of the best views of the city is to be had; and, finally, 
the famous perfumery establishment attached to the Convent 
of San Marco, and conducted solely by the monks, where 
each of the seven or eight rooms composing it is characterised 
by a distinct perfume, and where innumerable syrups and 
essences of the most tantalising description are made, I 
think I have given a brief summary of all the leading attrac¬ 
tions of the place. 

The walks and drives in the suburbs, for those who can 
make a lengthened stay, are said to be both numerous and 
delightful. A stroll out to the village of Fiesole one morning 
before breakfast was the only excursion of the kind we had 
time for. It lies at a distance of five miles from the centre 
of the town, and at the height of 1,000 feet above it. There 
is that delicious balminess in the atmosphere which only 
the climate of Italy can boast, and the panorama that lay 
spread out before us when we had gained the summit of the 
hill is one which will not easily fade from our memories. 
The spires and cupolas of the fairy city glistening in the 
sun’s first rays; the Arno meandering like a silver thread 
through the valley; the surrounding amphitheatre of hills 
radiant with the golden garment of early dawn—no wonder, 
we thought, that Fra Angelico, whose boyhood must have 
been passed on this very spot, should have delighted in 
golden backgrounds and visions of paradisiacal glory ! And 
no wonder too, we thought, that Florence should have 
acquired the proud distinction of “ la Bella ” over and above 
all other Italian cities ! 


CHAPTER VIII. 

BOLOGNA, MANTIJA, VERONA, AND PADUA. 

May 31.s£.—As the railway carries us fast away in the direc¬ 
tion of Pistoia, the last object that is visible to us through 
the grey mist of the early morning, is the quaint old tower of 



BOLOGNA, MANTTJA, VERONA, AND PADUA. 107 

the Medicean Palace; and when that is out of sight it is like 
parting from an old familiar friend, or rather from a newly- 
formed acquaintance with whom one has discovered many 
sympathies in common, and whom we may never meet again. 
From Pistoia the diligence takes us on to Bologna ; and we 
note with satisfaction that we have one coachman instead of 
constant relays of postilions who are always asking buono- 
mano. We have two Americans with us, not wanting in 
the usual affectation of superiority over every other people 
under the sun, but very droll now and then even in the 
midst of their conceit. It would be quite beneath their 
dignity to converse on any occasion in a foreign language; 
and so in paying scores at the restaurants on the road, it 
was generally—“Well, old woman, how much?” and 
“Good bye, old lady—shan’t see you again perhaps.” A 
French passenger told me that, desirous of information, he 
one day asked an American how he might know one of his 
countrymen from an Englishman; to which the Yankee 
as seriously replied, that “whenever he heard a bit of 
unusually pure English, he might set the speaker down for 
an American.” 

It took us five weary hours with eight horses to mount 
to the summit of the Collina Pass of the Apennines. For 
an hour we seemed to be in the midst of a driving sleet, but 
it was only the gentle embrace of a frolicsome cloud; and then 
we found ourselves in the sunshine again, and it was curious 
to see the white snow covering the Pass above us, and a bed 
of fleecy vapours intercepting the prospect over the valleys 
beneath. At length the extra four quadrupeds are detached, 
and with the remaining four we rattle au grand galop down the 
other side of the mountain. A diligence , about twice the bulk 
of an omnibus, carrying twenty passengers with proportionate 
baggage, is no trifle; but our coachman is a perfect Jehu. 
The road twists about like a corkscrew, at an average angle of 
nearly 45°; but the sharper the turn, and the steeper the 
incline, the more furious is our pace. One false step, and we 
are lost. But the excitement is too great for fear, and our 
driver looks as perfectly at his ease as though on level 
ground. On one side of us, as we near the valley, a moun- 


108 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


tain torrent dashes along almost as impetuously as ourselves; 
on the other, perpendicular cliffs rise above our heads, with 
every now and then a little cot daringly crouched beneath 
some overhanging precipice, the rock itself forming the roof, 
and one, or sometimes two, of its sides. When a village is 
reached the pace is increased. Our Jehu wags his head in 
a knowing way, cracks his long whip first on this side, then 
on that, and sings out some well-known strain at the top of 
his voice; now it is a merry Tyrolean air with the joyous 
falsetto chorus, now a prayer to the Yirgin, and now an 
Italian love song. A right jovial fellow is he, with a smile 
for every lass, and every lass a smile for him. We dined at 
the village of Porretta, off a dish called capretta —“young 
kid”—with a garnishing of saner kraut , which suggests to 
us that we must be nearing the Austrian frontier. Can you 
imagine anything more delectable F Cabbage leaves cut into 
small strips, put beneath a press, and allowed to rot and 
pickle themselves for several months in their own juice ! I 
confess to a strong predilection for it. At the last stage, 
which was reached about half-past 8, we took the precaution 
of fortifying ourselves against the raw night air with a cup 
of strong hot coffee, drew the curtains across the front of the 
banquette , and while S. and a native of Vaterland relapsed 
into a sound, wholesome snore, I improved the temperature 
with a cigar. By-and-bye the cessation of the rain, which 
had been falling rather fast, tempted me to pull aside the 
curtain, revealing such a sight as I think I shall never 
forget. Huge masses of dark, streaky clouds lay stretched 
horizontally across the sky, linking, as it were, the two 
mountain ranges that formed the sides of the valley, and 
presenting an apparently impenetrable barrier in front of 
us; the deep blue vault above was studded with stars, and 
myriads of fireflies, sparkling like crystals, flitted about in 
the hedges and orchards on each side. The only audible 
sounds were the rumbling of the wheels, the clattering of 
the horses’ feet, and the jingling of the bells. Even our 
quondam demonstrative cocker was now so silent, and his 
whip so inactive, that his four cantering dependants seemed 
to have it all their own way. His little dog was just per- 


BOLOGNA, MANTUA, VERONA, AND PADUA. 109 

ceptible, trotting bravely along a few yards in advance. 
The Italian breed of dogs is very handsome—either black, 
cream-coloured, or sandy, and of the Esquimaux or Pome¬ 
ranian type. Every coachman seems to possess one. 

At 10 o’clock we pass the outer gate of Bologna , and the 
inner one shortly after. Here, as usual, the mock examina¬ 
tion of passj)orts and effects takes place^ followed by the 
customary salutations of the officials; it will be a bright 
day in the history of the country when the whole fardel of 
iron-gates, double walls, and passports is swept entirely 
away. We take up our quarters for two nights at the “ Pen¬ 
sion Suisse,” an enormous block of buildings, formerly a 
nobleman’s palace, but with a physiognomy like that of a 
hospital, an asylum, or a barrack. Our waking moments 
the next morning were certainly calculated to favour the 
last-named idea, inasmuch as we were roused at half-past 5 
by the music of a military band immediately beneath our 
windows. It proved to be a religious procession, however, 
men in red and white garments carrying banners and candles, 
a troop of girls following, and the Archduke Maximilian and 
his friends, in three six-horse carriages, bringing up the rear. 

Bologna is a rare old town, and differs as widely from 
Florence in appearance as Prague from Vienna, Nuremberg 
from Munich, Fontainebleau from Paris, or Chester from 
Richmond . As you look down upon it from one of its old 
square towers, it seems to be nothing but a jumble of crumb¬ 
ling walls, interminable colonnades, and leaning towers. 
But descend to closer inspection, and its treasures in the 
way of pictures and churches appear inexhaustible. The 
Academy of Fine Arts is, in my judgment, the most satis¬ 
factory in all Italy; not that it is more extensive than others, 
or that it contains the greatest number of capi d’opera, but 
on account of its strict nationality, of its complete representa¬ 
tion of one of the most celebrated of Italian schools, and of 
the careful chronological order in which the collection is 
arranged. The most illustrious masters of the Bolognese 
school, such as Guido, Francesco Francia, and the Caraccis, 
can only be fairly appreciated here. Guido’s productions, 
which we had hitherto considered vapid, sentimental, and 



110 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

altogether unworthy of his great reputation, are here charac¬ 
terised by a depth of feeling, warmth of colour, and manli¬ 
ness of expression which are rarely seen in his works else¬ 
where. He was a pupil of the Caraccis, and one can well 
understand their jealousy of him. One remarkable picture 
here is the “ Last Communion of St. Jerome,” by Agostino 
Caracci; and although greatly inferior in execution to 
Domenichino’s masterpiece at the Vatican, one is not parti¬ 
cularly gratified at the almost slavish manner in which the 
latter artist has copied the original of Caracci. The gem of 
the gallery is Eaphael’s “ St. Cecilia: ” the saint herself 1 is 
scarcely equal to his usual standard of female beauty, but it 
is, on the whole, a work of exquisite tenderness and repose. 

After viewing such treasures as these, it is like turning 
from the sublime to the ridiculous to go and see a painting 
of the Virgin attributed to St. Luke. We know he was a 
historian, and we have the authority of the New Testament 
for his being a physician, but I am not aware there is 
any foundation for his artistic reputation out of the tradi¬ 
tions of the Eomish Church. Of the numerous black can¬ 
vasses of the Madonna which have been palmed off upon 
the church from time to time by adventurers from the East, 
as productions of St. Luke, this of Bologna has received a 
more than ordinary amount of veneration. It is preserved 
in a church nearly three miles from the town, and a portico, 
consisting of 635 arches, traverses the whole of the interven¬ 
ing space, having been erected solely for the purpose of pro¬ 
tecting the sacred relic from the weather during its annual 
visit to the city. Applied to a nobler end, what might not 
the same devotion and expenditure have accomplished ! 

About half way to the above-named church is the Certosa, 
with an adjoining Gampo Santo, which are really worth a 
visit. The poor only are buried in the open air; the rich 
lie in vaults beneath the surrounding cloisters, with marble 
effigies and eulogistic slabs let into the walls above. In a 
large recess is a superb sculptured group of Napoleon’s sister 
Elise and her son, by a native artist—Bartolini, I think: they 
are represented sitting. The marble has a few streaks of grey 
in it, which tell remarkably well in the drapery, and would 


BOLOGNA, MANTUA, VERONA, AND PADUA. Ill 

be no detraction to the monument whatever but for one 
unfortunate ray that descends down the side of the cheek 
from beneath the folds of the hair, and is rudely suggestive 
of a cap string. The pedestal, although extremely simple, 
■with a garland of flowers negligently encircling it, is very 
effective. We saw here too that beautiful veiled figure of 
which the one that drew so much attention at the Exhibition 
of 1851 was a copy. 

We visited this city in .the company of a most entertaining 
Frenchman who came with us from Florence , and who 
travelled with us for several days. On-rthe day after our 
arrival we intended to join the gay people of the place 
at the evening promenade, and to this end, immediately 
after table d’hote , set out in search of such an equipage as we 
thought adequate to our importance as foreigners. Unfor¬ 
tunately we were late in the field, and the only vehicle we 
could secure at anything like a reasonable charge was a 
rickety little cradle of a thing with a hole punched in one 
of its sides, and a shapeless mass of skin and bones between 
the shafts. Luckily the coachman was one of the jocular 
sort, and we drowned our chagrin in no end of fun at his 
expense—the Frenchman offering him two pauli extra to 
show us a worse turn-out. We durst not, however, appear 
at the promenade in such a vehicle until the beau monde had 
vacated it. 

The principal square of the city is not so imposing as one 
would be led to expect from the description in “ Murray,” 
and the elaborate sculptured fountain placed in the centre 
by order of the pious Carlo Borromeo does little credit in 
point of design to the Cardinal’s saintly reputation. 

June 3rd. —By diligence to Mantua , starting at 4 A.M., 
and arriving at 5 p.m. Country flat and uninteresting, but 
well cultivated. Pass through Modena , capital of the 
Duchy, but do not stay long enough to see anything. Cross 
the celebrated Po, diligence and all, in a ferry,—a broad, 
muddy, rapid river. Mantua is probably the best fortified 
town in Italy, being greatly aided by its geographical posi¬ 
tion in the midst of a vast area of lakes and marshes, which 
render it exceedingly unhealthy as a place of residence. 


112 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Besides the fortifications and a few interminable old palaces, 
the town has little to interest a stranger. There is an air 
of considerable commercial activity about it, and there seems 
to be a large market for felt hats. 

June 3rd .—Bail to Verona , where my friend and I part 
for a couple of days, in order to give me one day here and 
another at Padua , for which he could not afford the time. 

Verona is a fine old town—still Verona la Degna —but 
its present dignity is of a different caste to what it was in 
the days of Can Grande , the “ Great Dog.” It is no longer 
the most splendid court in Italy; but, as in the stately 
features of an aged dame one can often read a tale of early 
beauty, so in the majestic ruins of this venerable city one 
may trace the image of a once glorious prime. Palaces 
that erst were looked on as the highest efforts of art 
are now converted into hotels, boarding-houses, public 
offices, and shops. Even the grand old amphitheatre itself, 
although suffering little from decay, has succumbed to the 
general degradation, and submitted to the disfigurement of 
its spacious arena by the erection of a miserable little 
stage for the performance of puppets and strolling players. 
What a relief to the feelings would it be to see the great 
water-conduit, formerly used for filling the arena with the 
waters of the Adige during their naval representations, sud¬ 
denly converted into an instrument for sweeping the whole 
paraphernalia of wood and canvas bodily away ! 

Of churches, in which Verona, like most old Italian 
towns, is very rich, that of San Zenone is the most curious 
and interesting. The portal is a unique specimen of 
Christian art as it existed in the twelfth century—the gates 
being of massive pine-wood, adorned with forty-eight scrip¬ 
tural bronze plates, and flanked by carvings in stone illus- 
tiative of subjects taken from sacred history, side by side 
with royal hunts and knightly jousts; the whole series, in 
point of outline and perspective, being scarcely equal to the 
best efforts of a young modern school-boy. In the adjoin¬ 
ing cemetery is an ancient mausoleum, which is entered by 
a flight of steps, and above the entrance a very suspicious 
looking inscription assigning the sarcophagus it contains to 



BOLOGNA, MANTUA, VERONA, AND PADUA. 


113 


Pepin, King of Italy, who died at Milan, a.d. 810. “Murray” 
says, and with every appearance of truth, that the inscrip¬ 
tion was put up by a priest in the last century. The house 
of the Capulets still exists in the degraded form of a small 
hostelry; and a red marble washing-trough is still exhibited 
to the credulous as the veritable tomb of Juliet; but if you 
hint to the old guardian, “ questa e moderna ,” she smiles, and 
seems to be of the same opinion. The fortifications encircle 
the whole city, and are adorned with several handsome gate¬ 
ways. A moonlight stroll along the ramparts, which now 
form one of the public promenades, is the most appropriate 
termination to a day’s lionising in Verona. 

June 4 th .—By an early train to Padua, having forwarded 
my bag to Venice, which I intend to reach this same evening. 
Padua contains five chief objects of interest—the University, 
the Municipal Palace, Giotto’s Chapel, Pedrocchi’s caffe, and 
the Botanical Gardens. Of the first of these I saw only the 
exterior, and a large quadrangle adorned with statues, which 
to me was very imposing. The second, the Municipal 
Palace, is chiefly remarkable as possessing the largest hall 
in the world unsupported by pillars, 267 feet long by 89 
feet wide. Beyond this fact of size, I could see nothing to 
recommend it. The roof is of a low pitch, and the walls are 
grimly embellished with a number of dingy, unintelligible 
paintings. Giotto’s Chapel is a sight of much more remu¬ 
nerative character. It was both built and decorated by 
Giotto, at the command of Enrico Scrovegno, a wealthy 
thirteenth-century knight; and is doubly interesting from 
the fact that the poet Dante was living with Giotto at the 
time he was engaged upon it. One can well imagine, if not 
clearly trace, the genial influence which the peculiar genius 
of Dante must have exercised over the mind of the young 
artist during the prosecution of his task; and throughout 
the whole domain of this branch of Italian art there can 
scarcely be a more interesting study,- to my mind, or a more 
satisfactory example of that particular epoch. To the un¬ 
initiated there is a grotesqueness in the treatment of sacred 
subjects which is not altogether inviting; but to those who, 
with an impartial eye, can bridge over the lapse of a few 

I 


114 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

centuries, and see a deeper meaning in art than the mere 
technical effects of outline and colour, this monument ot 
Giotto’s earliest and best efforts must be an instructive 
chapter in the art-history of that period. 

Everybody, of course, goes to see and patronise Pedrocchi s 
caffe , an establishment which the inhabitants of Padua believe 
to be the eighth wonder of the world. Pedrocchi was origin¬ 
ally the proprietor of a dirty little “ hell,” when all at once 
the ill-famed den fell to the ground, and the present costly 
edifice rose from its ruins. It appears to be a favourite 
lounge of the students, and contains, in addition to the usual 
salons devoted to the science of gastronomy, a suite of 
assembly and reading rooms, handsomely furnished and 
adorned with paintings, frescoes, and a variety of marbles. 

To any one who desires to have a notion of the high state 
of culture to which both native and exotic plants can be 
brought in Italy, the Botanical Gardens are well worth a visit. 
Magnolia trees, rivalling our horse-chestnuts in size, and with 
magnificent large white blossoms, are growing in the open 
air. Europe can boast no finer specimens. Fine foliaged 
plants in endless variety abound, and also many other large 
trees and shrubs, besides the magnolia, with clustering 
blossoms, among which I was particularly struck with one 
bearing a rich crimson tuft, in shape and size much resem¬ 
bling our common teasel; but of its name I am ignorant. 
I could only gaze, admire, and wish for the society of a 
certain scientific relative. 

The churches of Padua are numerous, and are said to 
possess even more than the usual interest attached to those 
venerable edifices in old cathedral towns; but unless a man 
happens to be an architect or an archaeologist, he gets sated 
after a time with marvels of this kind, and, backed by the 
approval of my laquais de place, whom I had engaged for 
two shillings to take me the round of sights, I omitted these, 
and positively “did” Padua in about three hours. 

By half-past four of the same day my baggage and I were 
gliding noiselessly in a gondola along the Grand Canal of 
Venice to the Grand Hotel de la Ville, where I rejoined my 
friend S., and took up my quarters for the next eight or 
nine days. 


VENICE. 


115 


CHAPTER IX. 

VENICE. 

If there is anything that may be said about Venice with 
more certainty than another, it is that no one who is un¬ 
acquainted with it personally can pretend to entertain an 
adequate notion of its appearance. Eor how should it be 
possible that an utter stranger to the place could form any 
but the most vague conception of a city whose roadways are 
all of water, to whose natives the rumbling of wheels and 
the clattering of horses’ feet are unknown sounds, and where 
an isolated flock of pigeons is the only visible link between 
man and the rest of the animal creation ? Of such a town 
it may be safely asserted that no amount of description from 
handbooks or other sources can take the place of a personal 
visit. So captivating, however, are its various idiosyncra¬ 
sies, and so “rich and rare” the numerous art-gems with 
which it is adorned, that no traveller can resist the tempta¬ 
tion to have a little gossip of his own about it. 

Suppose we begin with the gondola, one of the most 
characteristic objects in Venetian out-door life. We will 
take it as it appears in its daily round of noiseless duty 
along the watery streets—the “m,” as they are termed. 
And for fear of not doing justice to the subject, there will be 
no objection, I suppose, to my extracting a few pithy lines 
from Byron’s “ Beppo.” “Didst’ ever see a gondola ?” he 
begins— 

“ For fear 

You should not, I’ll describe it you exactly. 

’Tis a long cover’d boat that’s common here, 

Carved at the prow, built lightly, but compactly, 

Row’d by two rowers, each call’d ‘ Gondolier; ’ 

It glides along the water, looking blackly. 

Just like a coffin clapt in a canoe, 

Where none can make out what you say or do. 

“ And up and down the long canals they go, 

And under the Rialto shoot along, 

By night and day, all paces, swift or slow, 

And round the theatres, a sable throng, 


116 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


They wait in their dusk livery of woe; 

But not to them do woeful things belong, 

For sometimes they contain a deal of fun, 

Like mourning coaches when the funeral’s done.” 

The gondoliers—the two men who propel these singular 
craft with a long species of paddle, one from the stern and 
the other from the bow, driving along, when they choose, 
at a pace of ten or twelve miles an hour, and shooting round 
the sharp angles of the narrow streets with hair-splitting 
accuracy—are no longer the men of song and romance they 
once were; and yet something of the spirit of the past is 
still preserved among a few of them. We invoked it, in fact, 
one bright moonlight night in the following manner:—The 
table-d’ hote happened to be more numerously attended that 
evening than usual, the company numbering about fifty, 
when, just as they were about to separate, a spirited little 
old gentleman rose to address them :—“ The fineness of the 
weather,” he said, “and the many youthful faces he saw 
around him, suggested to him the idea that a proposi¬ 
tion to arrange a water party in connection with a little 
band of these Italian minstrels might not be unfavourably 
received.” Worthy little gentleman ! Could anything pos¬ 
sibly be more acceptable ? A subscription is made on the 
spot, and a sufficient sum very soon raised to secure the ser¬ 
vices of about a score of the most renowned of these “ sons 
of song.” Nine o’clock is agreed upon for the commence¬ 
ment of the entertainment, and our respective gondolas are 
to assemble at the hotel steps by that hour. The barge of 
the Austrian commandant’s band is chartered for the use of 
the gondoliers, and at the appointed hour we all set off in 
procession along the Grand Canal towards the Rialto —the 
gondoliers first, and the little fleet of from twelve to fifteen 
gondolas closely following. We are no sooner fairly under 
way than our entertainers break in upon the stillness of 
the night air with a few preliminary songs and madrigals. 
A short mile brings us to the Rialto , under whose broad 
arch we draw up in orderly line, and drink in such intoxi¬ 
cating draughts of rich sonorous harmony as no amount 
of money in our own country could purchase. The feast 


VENICE. 


117 


lasts an hour or more, and we then set out on the return 
journey, in the same order as before. In the interim, the 
pale moon has withdrawn behind a curtain of rising cloud,—- 
the bright glimmering of her beams upon the surface of the 
canal having now given place to frequent flashes of light¬ 
ning. The melodies of the men appear to accommodate 
themselves to the caprice of the weather: where we had 
songs of peace, they are now of war; and for ditties of love, 
hymns of devotion. It was a glorious triumph for the 
gondoliers; and as far as my own memory is concerned, I 
will undertake to forget all the fine cbhcerts I ever heard, 
and all the bewitching nights ever witnessed, before I forget 
these. 

The “Grand Canal” is so called because it is very 
much larger than any of the innumerable little murky 
streams that run like so many arteries through every part of 
the city. It extends, moreover, from one end to the other 
in the form of a letter S, passing as nearly through the centre 
as may be. The rii, or smaller canals, are not, it must be 
understood, the only means of passing from one part to an¬ 
other, inasmuch as, for the accommodation of those who 
cannot afford the expense of a gondola, these smaller canals, 
to the number of about 150, are crossed by upwards of 300 
little bridges, communicating with a still greater number 
of tiny alleys, so that the whole city, although apparently 
floating right out in the sea, may in fact be explored entirely 
on foot—an experiment, however, which it would not be 
worth the while of any stranger to make. 

Having become familiarised with this peculiar arrange¬ 
ment of infant streets, canals, and gondolas, one’s atten¬ 
tion is next directed, we will suppose, to the Piazza of 
St. Mark—an enormous square running down to the sea at 
one extremity of the Grand Canal. The fine old Byzantine 
Cathedral of St. Mark, flanked right and left, as usual, by its 
attendant clock and bell towers, occupies one end of the 
square, the three remaining sides being colonnaded off with 
shops and caffes, and the centre paved with large flags of 
granite. The Piazzetta, or smaller square, with a portion of 
the superb old Ducal Palace adjoining one side of it, and the 


118 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Riva di Schiavone, a fine row of quays, are both closely con¬ 
tiguous to the Piazza ; the three together appear to form one 
grand focus in which all the interest of the town centres. 
With this odd acre or so of ground, therefore, all that is 
glorious in the past, as well as all that is degrading in the 
more recent history of the place, is intimately associated. To 
the respectable modern tourist, however, who generally 
devotes himself rather to the enjoyment of the present than 
to reflections on the past, the great square of St. Mark’s is 
chiefly attractive in the later part of the day, when the good 
folks come out for a little relaxation after the cares of the 
day’s work. There is no choice, in fact, on a summer’s 
evening: the theatres, certainly, are not inviting; if you go 
anywhere at all, therefore, it will be to the Grand Square. 
Soon after 7 o’clock the gondolas begin to arrive by scores 
in front of the Palace. The usual routine on landing is, 
to take a turn or so up ’'and down the Riva at a see-and- 
be-seen pace; then make for the Piazza , take your choice 
between the renowned Florian or his powerful opponent 
Specchi, seat yourself at one of the innumerable little tables 
that stretch far out beyond the colonnades into the square, call 
for your favourite ice or cup of black coffee, or, if you 
will be very English, your tea and cakes—punch even may be 
had—light your cigar, and then, having settled these various 
little preliminaries, assume all you can of the otium cum dig ., 
and lay yourself out for a couple of hours’ thorough idleness. 
Four or five companies of musicians of various ability are 
privileged to play and sing in turn before each caffe , and 
then it’s woe to the purse of the young fellow who is not proof 
against sparkling eyes and a pretty face, for the most fasci¬ 
nating of the troupe is sure to come round for the money. 

While we were in Venice the first floor of the Hotel de la 
Ville, where we were staying, was occupied by the Duke of 
Brunswick. His dinner hour was an hour later than our 
table d’hote , and the etiquette for gentlemen seemed to be 
to sit on the hotel steps smoking cigars, drinking cafe noir , 
and listening to the music of an Austrian band that played 
beneath the window till his Serene Highness made his 
appearance and was carried off to the Piazza in a sprightly 


VENICE. 


119 


gondola with a light awning, rowed by four jolly-looking 
young tars in a blue and white uniform ; immediately after 
which—those who were so fortunate being by this time 
joined by their ladies—we followed with our respective 
gondolas en queue. 

When we come now to speak of the public buildings— 
churches, palaces, and picture-galleries of Venice —the topic 
seems to be a fertile and indeed almost an inexhaustible 
one. My only doubt is, whether it were better, after the 
volumes that have been written on the subject, to pass it by 
altogether, or to commence a rambling i dilettante ‘ ‘ Stones of 
Venice” which shall bear about the same relation to the 
great original as a child’s primer to the discourses of Sir 
Joshua Reynolds. Or I may perhaps avoid both extremes 
by jotting down, without any particular regard to order, 
just the few brief memoranda I find scattered about my note¬ 
book. To begin with a very fair 'piece de resistance , for 
example, take St. Mark’s, that fantastic old pile of building, 
with its fine mosque-like domes and four historical bronze 
horses, and I find it is chiefly remarkable, according to 
my own crude notions, for the ugliness of its external 
beauty, if one may be allowed to speak so paradoxically of 
an edifice with which photography has now made every one 
familiar,—that the richness of its interior, whose walls and 
roof are covered with golden mosaics, and whose pavement 
is of tesselated marble in various allegorical devices, is 
almost thrown away upon the non-professional stranger, 
from the meagre distribution of light, which renders the 
whole area so gloomy that it is quite a chance whether you 
discover any of its magnificence after all. The treasury of St. 
Mark, which is entered from the church, is said to be a won¬ 
derful storehouse of relics and old eastern jewellery: but 
our taste in that way had of late been so abundantly 
gratified, that not even a fragment of the Cross, a bit of our 
Saviour’s dress, and an old granite slab, brought from Tyre 
and said to be the identical table from which he preached to 
the inhabitants of that city, could induce us to break through 
our resolve rigidly to avoid that species of exhibition for the 
future. 



120 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

Step out into the square again, and you are immediately 
confronted by three tall red masts inserted in bronze pedes¬ 
tals rising out of the pavement. Long streaming gonfalons 
of silk and gold once proudly floated from them, to represent 
the threefold power of the republic in Venice , Cyprus , and 
the Morea; but they are now replaced by the standards of 
Austria. Give a glance to the right, and you see the Torre 
delV Orologio, quaintly dovetailed in amongst the houses 
which form one side of the Piazza. The dial-plate of the 
clock, which is richly decorated with gold and azure, occu¬ 
pies the centre of the tower, and has, according to Italian 
custom, the full complement of 24 hours marked out upon it. 
The announcement of the hour is entrusted to a couple of 
bronze mannikins, who stand like sentinels on the top of the 
tower, one on each side of a large bell, which they strike by 
turns with hammers. One of these individuals, I am sorry 
to say, committed a murder in the last century in spite of 
himself; a poor man who was at work there having got in the 
way of his huge hammer, which knocked him over the 
parapet. A few feet lower down is a balcony, where, at .the 
striking of the hour of eight in the evening, four little 
automata step out from the interior, promenade themselves 
before an admiring audience below, and after a minute or two 
retire. The whole thing is a fair sample of the mechanical 
exhibitions for which most continental nations are famous. 
Opposite the Clock-tower is the Campanile , or Bell-tower, 
323 feet high—not so elegant as that of Florence, but easier 
of ascent, the path being a gentle incline without steps the 
whole way. Napoleon is said to have accomplished it on 
horseback. The view from the top, over the house-roofs, with 
their shining terraces and verandahs, is extremely novel and 
interesting. It is like one town superposed on the top of 
another; or one might compare it perhaps to a vast encamp¬ 
ment, entirely deserted in the middle of the day, when we 
saw it, though doubtless animated enough on a cool summer 
evening. 

Before leaving St. Mark’s, there is just one little com¬ 
munity inseparably associated with it that cannot in fairness 
be passed over. I mean the flock of pigeons, already men- 



VENICE. 


121 


tioned, that incessantly hovers about its buildings. No¬ 
body knows with any certainty how long they have been 
there, any more than why they should be fed at the expense 
of the government. The people seem to entertain a sort of 
superstitious regard for them, and it is a strange sight to see 
them come flying down to the pavement every day on the 
striking of the hour of two, to receive the never-failing dole 
of grain. 

On leaving the Cathedral, the next most conspicuous 
object is the Ducal Palace—a building which, equally with 
its neighbour the cathedral, has been rendered so familiar 
by pictures of every kind, that the description of a non¬ 
professional is clearly superfluous. I may mention one 
fact in connection with it, however, which is perhaps not 
generally known. The columns that form the handsome 
colonnade on which the facade overlooking the Grand Canal 
rests, have a singularly stunted appearance, as though their 
foundations had in some mysterious manner been removed ; 
the fact being that the mean level of the sea having risen at 
the rate of three inches in a century, in order to j>revent its 
aggressive tendencies in that part of the town, the autho¬ 
rities have been obliged to raise the pavement fifteen inches 
since the erection of the present structure: the lower portion 
of the columns, therefore, are sunk to that extent beneath 
the surface. 

The principal entrance to the interior of the Palace is from 
the quadrangle, by the Scaladei Oiganti, the famous “Giants’ 
Staircase,” so called from two colossal statues of Mars and 
Neptune, which stand on either side at the top ; and where, 
on a raised platform, the Doges were crowned. The grand 
hall is a magnificent apartment, the walls of which are 
covered with gorgeous paintings of the Venetian school, 
chiefly Tintorettos. One of these, representing “ Paradise,” 
'and said to be the largest picture ever painted on canvas, 
is 84£ feet long by 34 feet high, and covers the whole of one 
end of the hall. The other apartments of the Palace are also 
adorned with some of the best productions of Venetian art; 
but traces of Napoleon’s work of plunder are still apparent 
in the large dismal gaps that occur here and there on the 



122 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

walls, which seem to indicate that from some cause or other 
one of the first conditions of the Treaty of Paris—viz., the 
restoration of all the stolen pictures—was only partially 
carried out. The Ponte dei Sospiri, or “ Bridge of Sighs,” is a 
connecting link between the Palace and the public prisons, 
and of course we failed not to pay it a hurried visit,—to take 
a hasty peep at the dismal little cells that seemed to be hol¬ 
lowed out of the thickness of the walls; to inhale reluctantly 
the damp, fetid atmosphere of the narrow passage along 
which the prisoners had to walk after sentence had been 
passed in the Hall of Justice; and then to credit without 
difficulty the traditionary sighs which have bequeathed such 
an unenviable notoriety to this particular bridge. 

It is an unspeakable relief to breathe the outer air once 
more. A round of churches, even, is cheerful occupation in 
comparison with that in which we have just been engaged. 
It may safely be asserted, I think, that few towns in Italy 
can vie with Venice in exhibitions of this kind. To enumerate 
but a few of the most interesting: there is that graceful one 
of Santa Maria della Salute , a special favourite with Turner, 
Canaletto, and the modern “sunbeam” artists. It was 
erected in the year 1631 as a thank-offering on the cessation 
of a great plague which is said to have destroyed 60,000 of 
the inhabitants, and is chiefly remarkable for the elegance 
of its internal arrangement, the richness and profuseness of 
its marbles, and the immense collection of saintly statues 
with which it is adorned. Then there is the church of Santi 
Paolo e Giovanni, passing rich in the possession of Titian’s 
“ Martyrdom of St. Peter,’’reckoned by some the third picture 
in the world; not to mention what to me was a still more 
interesting relic—viz., a series of wonderful bas-reliefs in 
the sacristy, of one of which, by a German, Canova is said 
to have confessed that his own chisel would fall far short. 
There is, again, the Church of the Frari , with its superb 
monuments to Titian and Canova, and a picture by the 
former called the “ Pala dei Pesaro ,” which is reckoned next 
in merit to the one above alluded to. The most won¬ 
derful collection of precious marbles is to be found in 
the Chiesa degli Scalzi, near the railway station, built by 


VENICE. 


123 

eight noblemen, who spared no expense to procure for its 
adornment all the richest marbles that were to be had. It 
is very small, but the costliness, profusion, and variety of 
its marbles and precious stones are perfectly indescribable. 
It also possesses a small but very beautiful picture by 
Giovanni Bellini, a Madonna and Child, exhibiting a depth of 
feeling and a purity of expression that reminded me strongly 
of E ra Angelico’s best works. A bare enumeration, how¬ 
ever, is wearisome, or I might go on swelling the list for 
another page or two : but those I have named are the most 
interesting. -r 

The private palaces are many of them sight-worthy 
enough; yet we found we had neither time nor inclination 
to visit more than two—the Giovanelli, and one belonging to 
an Austrian general. These two, however, are good types 
of the rest, and serve in some sense to mark the temper and 
relative condition of the two peoples—the oppressors and the 
oppressed. The first is that of a Venetian nobleman, too 
proud to live in the same city with the tyrant, yet not 
willing that his quondam dignity should altogether pass 
into oblivion. He spends his last zwanziger, therefore, in 
the decoration of his unoccupied mansion, and places a 
servant there to levy a toll of two zwanzigers on every 
stranger who goes to see it, to pay the rent of the little 
villa to which he has retired in the country. The other, 
furnished with equal magnificence and taste, is clearly a 
mansion whose elegance the owner is in the habit of 
frequently enjoying in propria persona, with no reserve on 
the score of humiliation, fear, or offended dignity. He 
believes with all his heart, and tries to make the proud 
Venetian believe too, that “ might is right,” while the spirit 
of tyranny lurks in every vein of him. 

Two fine palaces, the Correr and Manfrini , have been 
appropriated by the public—the former as a respository for 
old porcelain, faded pictures, and other curiosities; the 
latter chiefly as a picture-gallery, from which, however, the 
most valuable works have been either stolen or sold. There 
still remains one of a Sybil, by-the-bye, by an obscure artist, 
to which some interest attaches from the fact that Lord 


124 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Byron nearly went mad ‘ ‘ because it could not walk out of 
its frame!” We think his taste somewhat whimsical, and 
fancy we have seen many faces here, both on canvas and 
out of doors, far more worthy of the honour. The Scuola 
di San Rocco is a truly fine repository of art, and one which 
no one who is an admirer of Tintoretto should on any 
account omit to see. No less than sixty-two of his gorgeous 
paintings are gathered together beneath this one roof, and 
as a proof of the estimation in which a great authority 
holds them, a eulogium in their behoof extending over no 
fewer than thirty pages may be found in the “ Stones of 
Venice.” For the grand “collective wisdom” of the old 
Venetian school, however, we must go to the Academia delle 
Belle Arti. Here we have Titians, Tintorettos, Paul Veroneses, 
Bonifacios, Bellinis, Giorgiones, Palmas (II Giovine), and a 
host of inferior worthies in altogether bewildering profusion. 
This much maybe learned from “ Murray ; ” but then, once 
fairly in the midst of all these great luminaries, paradoxical 
as it may appear, you are ready to fancy yourself the victim 
of a delusion. For you, simple amateur in art, one great 
picture alone exists. In that long series of chambers, whose 
walls teem with prodigies of art, one spot alone is lit up 
with such entrancing splendour that all beyond seems lost 
in obscurity of the very dimmest kind. To be brief, this 
blazing sun of light is no other than Titian’s capo d’opera 
the “ Assumption ; ” and the rich depth and brilliancy of its 
colouring, which so completely throws all its companions 
into the shade, is the more astonishing from the fact that it 
once stood over an altar in the Church of the Frari , so 
begrimed with smoke and the fumes of incense as to have 
lost its identity. At any rate, the monks of the church 
thought they had made a good bargain when they exchanged 
it for a bright new picture by an obscure hand to a certain 
Count Cicognara, who, with a shrewd guess at the value of 
his prize, had it cleaned and placed where it now is. The 
treatment resembles that of Baphael’s “Transfiguration” 
in the threefold arrangement of “earth, lower heaven, and 
upper glory,” depicting respectively the wondering Apostles, 
the ascending Virgin, enveloped in a golden atmosphere 


VENICE. 


125 


teeming with cherubs, and, crowning all, the usual cor¬ 
poreal rendering of the Deity. If it were not for a certain 
stiffness and unnatural restraint in the action of one or two 
of the figures below, and a little too much flesh and buxom¬ 
ness in the Virgin herself, I think I should almost prefer it 
to the masterpiece of Raphael. As it is, I give the pre¬ 
ference to the “Peter Martyr” in the Church of SS. Paul 
and John. 

The Arsenal is a wonderfully entertaining place to any one 
who is fond of warlike relics—ancient armour, firearms, 
and weapons of all descriptions ; old six-barrel revolving 
pistols, of huge dimension and curious mechanism, not the 
least interesting; likewise the helmet of Attila (a very 
modern-looking affair, by the way), that fierce King of the 
Huns who was indirectly the founder of Venice, by terrify¬ 
ing the timid inhabitants of the mainland on to a little 
group of mud islands out in the gulf, which they covered at 
first with rude huts, and by degrees converted into a noble 
city resting entirely on wooden piles firmly fixed in the 
alluvial soil. At the entrance to the Arsenal stand two 
colossal marble lions, brought from Athens in 1687, one of 
which is historically remarkable as having been one of the 
chief ornaments of the Piraeus , and from which, in fact, it 
was commonly called the Porto Leone. 

I completed my round of sights with a visit to the Glass 
Factory on the Island of Murano. This industry gives 
employment to about 1,000 people. Beads of every form 
and colour appear to be the chief article of manufacture, 
and the whole process, which is both interesting and instruc¬ 
tive to any one who has not visited our large factories at 
home, may be seen in less than an hour. 

My old friend and compagnon de voyage , J. S., was only 
with me two days in Venice, having to return home rather 
unexpectedly. Fortunately I enjoyed for some days longer 
the society of some mutual friends, or the remainder of 
my lionising would have had but an indifferent relish. 
Who should I see one day, for instance, at the head of 
the table d'hote , but our old Vesuvian friend the Irishman 
—clearly in his glory there—half a dozen patient listeners 


126 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

on either side, and a poor timid gargon to drive half crazy 
with a perpetual fusillade of orders and counter-orders in 
his own peculiar style of dog-French. After dinner he 
introduced me to two of his friends, and begged I would 
take a seat in their gondola whenever I felt disposed. This 
resulted in our going together the next day to witness a 
grand religious ceremony on the Piazza of St. Mark. It 
was the festival of the Corpus Domini. Each of the parishes, 
of which there are some forty, sends fifty representatives to 
the cathedral: a little symbolical worship takes place inside, 
and then the saintly legion, in varied costume, and stagger¬ 
ing beneath the weight of enormous wax candles and 
banners, files off in solemn order round a temporary arcade 
erected for the purpose, preceded by a military band. An 
archbishop, marching pompously beneath a flimsy baldachino, 
and attended by the canons of the cathedral, carries the host 
and closes the procession. The natives were delighted; but 
for a foreigner it is a dreary business, and it caused the loss 
of more than a couple of hours. 

Another old face that greeted me here was that of an 
Englishman whose acquaintance we made in the Museum 
at Florence —a great connoisseur in art—and with him I 
haunted the picture galleries very pleasantly for a couple of 
days. Above all, I spent another three days with the 
Frenchman, whose droll humour afforded us so much 
amusement at Bologna. He was on his way home after a 
six months’ sojourn in Africa , and there, in his hospitable 
reception by native princes and his hairbreadth escapes from 
the jaws of lions and tigers, he could only have been 
excelled by Baron Munchausen himself. I accompanied 
him to the station when he left, and it was great fun to 
watch his skill in evading the searchings of the Custom 
House officials, who are very strict here. He had an 
infinity of small objects concealed about his trunks which 
should have paid duty, but by a wonderful assumption of 
nonchalance , taking care at the same time to have a hand in 
the search himself, he escaped the forfeit of a single sou. 

And now my short dream of this Queen of Island Cities 
has come to its termination. Let me say just one word 


TRIESTE, ADELSBERG, VIENNA. 


127 


about tbe people before actually printing it. Alas ! there is 
a dream impending there—a horrid nightmare I should 
rather call it—of which the closing scene will not be so 
readily attained. Look at the deserted palaces along the 
Grand Canal, or take one turn along either of the public 
promenades, and you will soon see, from the respective bear¬ 
ing of the victors and the vanquished, from the braggart, 
selfish manner in which the former—always in uniform— 
monopolise all the best caffes, and from the studious way in 
which the latter, especially those of the higher classes, seem 
to avoid all contact with their oppressors—you will soon 
understand the ugly cauchemar to which I allude. But 
there is a noble dignity of nature about these Venetians 
which no amount of tyranny is ever likely to knock out of 
them; and happily in the present aspect of affairs this state 
of things does not seem likely to last much longer. 


CHAPTER X. 

TRIESTE—ADELSBERG-VIENNA. 

June 12 th. —On board the “ Milano ” for Trieste at 6 a.m. 
Lovely blue sky, numerous company. Reach Trieste by 
1 o’clock; a large, clean, mercantile city, with numerous 
shipping. Leave again at 4 P.M. by diligence for Adels- 
berg, of stalactite cavern renown—about forty miles on the 
road to Vienna —a distance which, at the ordinary German 
travelling pace, viz., five miles to the hour, and with endless 
stoppages for refreshment and other purposes, it takes us 
nearly ten hours to accomplish. At the last poste before 
reaching our destination we are requested to enter a small 
inn and do justice to an abendmahl, such as any but a 
German would call a dinner and supper together, and when, 
moreover, we seem to have done nothing but make abend- 
mahls all the way. But it little matters—there is only one 
rule for this kind of thing: ‘ ‘ when in Turkey do as the 



128 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Turkies do ”—it is simple enough. In we go, therefore, 
first, second, and third class all together, into the common 
room; a profusion of steaming viands cover the table, while 
one corner of the apartment is occupied by a couple of 
musicians with harp and fiddle, who endeavour to revive 
our dormant appetites with a round of excruciating Styrian 
airs. My own share of the work was soon over; and while 
the rest of the guests were despatching course after course 
in their own fashion, I slipped quietly away to take a closer 
survey of the internal economy of the little hostelry. The 
whole argument of it I found centred in the kitchen, which 
is natural enough in a land of large appetites. Here the 
sacrificial altar, an enormous stone hearth, raised some three 
feet from the ground, spreads itself' over a very considerable 
portion of the area. A heap of blazing wood lies scattered 
about on the top of it, and the matron of the establishment 
and three of her daughters are faintly visible across the 
atmosphere of vapour and smoke which they are themselves 
instrumental in raising; so deeply engrossed, too, in the 
business before them, that, provided a respectful distance is 
kept, and you are not likely to do otherwise, you may stand 
and look on as long as you please without their being in the 
least aware of your presence. 

It was nearly 2 o’clock before we reached Adelsberg, a 
miserable little village, badly off for inns. In the first 
I entered the sole individual I could rouse at all was the 
servant of an Austrian general, who had arrived a few hours 
before. The only civility he thought proper to show me 
was to introduce me to the chambermaids’ bedroom, where 
a couple of damsels lay, in opposite corners of the room, at 
the bottom of deep wooden boxes, into which I am sure 
they could never get without the help of steps or a chair, 
and how they get out is a greater mystery still. They evi¬ 
dently did not mean to rouse themselves to-night; so I went 
to the only other inn in the place, where I met with better 
success. 

The next morning a young Austrian and myself pro¬ 
ceeded without loss of time to the famous Grotto, one of the 
largest in the world. Its extent in fact is, as yet, very 


TRIESTE, ADELSBERG, VIENNA. 129 

imperfectly known—a matter of the purest conjecture 
rather. Our guide, for instance, assured us that he had 
been twenty-four miles underground in one direction, and 
probably there is no one capable of disputing it. We 
walked for about two miles and a half straight on, returning 
by a slightly different route. As appears to be the rule in 
caves of this kind, the ears are saluted on entering with 
an indication more or less noisy of the flow of running 
waters. The stream assumes here, in parts, almost the 
dimensions of a river. It enters the mountain with us—or 
rather we enter with it—and after accompanying us with its 
cheery prattle for some distance, turns off in another direc¬ 
tion and reappears miles away emerging from the other side 
of the mountain. This great natural curiosity is a truly 
remunerative exhibition. Long narrow vaulted galleries 
widen out every now and then into spacious chambers, or 
halls as they are called, with a seemingly endless series of 
beautiful stalactitic combinations. The stalactites, some¬ 
times uniting with the stalagmite below, form a pillar 
worthy to support a cathedral; at others a crop of minute 
spicula rises from the floor; now a cluster of slender 
columns reminds one of the tracery of a Gothic chapel, or 
of the twinings and interlacing of the ascending and 
descending branches of the banyan tree. In short, it is one 
continuous ever-shifting scene of kaleidoscopic beauty and 
variety. The shades of colour are almost as diversified as 
the forms, and whimsical enough is the nomenclature asso¬ 
ciated with them. Each fantastical formation has been 
provided with an appropriate name, until scarcely any pro¬ 
jection at all remarkable remains unchristened. Thus we 
are introduced in rapid succession to the Throne, the Pulpit, 
the Column, the Bell, the Loaf, the Corkscrew, the Butcher’s 
Shop, the Two Hearts, the Lion, the Curtain, the Pocket 
Handkerchief, the Lawyer’s Wig, the Monk, the Virgin and 
Child, and Mount Calvary—not to mention “The Great 
Basher of Bacon,” to which I myself stood sponsor, and 
which the guide allowed to be at least as good an illustra¬ 
tion of the real thing as most of the others. One of the 
halls, larger than the rest, and with a good level floor of 

K 



130 


CONTINENTAL "WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


hard earth, is used on Whit-Monday as a ball-room. On 
this occasion all the lads and lasses of the country for miles 
around assemble and dance the night through to the music 
of a military band. But it will give a better idea of the 
size of this particular hall if I note that when the Emperor 
visited the cavern in the early part of 1857, 3,000 people 
were assembled in it to welcome him. We had what is 
called the “small illumination,” i.e. a certain number of 
candles placed in different parts to produce effect. This, 
with fees to the guides, cost us 8s. a-piece. The “ grand 
illumination,” in which, as the guide tells you, upwards of 
1,000 candles are used, costs about 15s. 

We are still in good time for the 1 o’clock diligence to 
Laibach, where we take the rail to Vienna —270 miles—a 
journey of eighteen hours. We start about midnight, and 
towards the afternoon of the next day find ourselves in the 
midst of some wonderfully fine scenery in what is called the 
Semmering Alp. The construction of the railway here is 
considered one of the most wonderful examples of engineer¬ 
ing skill in Europe. It rises in a series of rapid curves to a 
height of 2,893 feet above sea-level, and just at this point 
is a tunnel nearly a mile long. In an interval of about 
twenty miles there are no fewer than eighteen tunnels, 
most of them, however, very short, and the inclines vary 
from 1 in 40 to 1 in 100. It was curious after the broiling 
sun we had been favoured with at Trieste to find ourselves 
rapidly rising to a point where the thermometer must have 
stood about zero, and the snow was falling fast. It was an 
unexpected foretaste in fact of the Alpine scenery which I 
hope to enjoy more at leisure by-and-by in Switzerland and 
the Tyrol. 

June 14 th to June 21sf.—At the instance of my Austrian 
companion I put up with him at a suburban hotel called 
the “Golden Cross; ” and as it appeared both respectable 
and moderate in charges, should have stayed the week out 
there, but for the suspicion that certain particulars in the 
antecedents of my friend, which oozed out during conversa¬ 
tion, might possibly involve me in some little personal 
difficulty. He informed me, for example, with considerable 


TRIESTE, ADELSBERG, VIENNA. 


131 


coolness, as I thought, that, holding the rank of First 
Lieutenant of Hussars, and aide-de-camp to the present 
Archduke Charles, he had a quarrel with a brother officer, 
fought a duel, killed him, was banished to Italy in conse¬ 
quence, and had now returned incognito before the expiration 
of his term in exile, in order secretly to wind up his affairs and 
offer himself' as a volunteer in one of the English regiments 
then fitting out for China. A possible, though not a very 
probable story; coupled, too, with a certain eccentricity of 
behaviour which seemed to offer a fair excuse for shaking 
him off. On the second morning after our arrival, therefore, 
if he expected to meet me at the early table d'liote he must have 
been disappointed, as I had departed at a still earlier hour 
for the Hotel d VArchiduc Charles —the best in the city, and 
not the dearest for those who like to take their meals at the 
restaurant attached to it. And, talking of restaurants, the 
Viennese are emphatically a dining people. Few of the 
hotels have a table d'hote, but most of them have restaurants 
where you can dine a la carte. The fashionable hour is 
about 1 or 2 o’clock, and the meal that is made then is some¬ 
thing truly prodigious. It is in fact the only one in the day 
to the mass besides a cup of coffee in the morning and 
another at night, or, it may be, once in a way, a bifstek 
or a cotelette for supper. I went every day to Streitberger’s 
in the Bischofsgasse, where the quantity, quality, and variety 
of the edibles set before you for about 2s. is next to 
incredible—soup, boiled unsalted beef, with three or four 
kinds of vegetables, among which sauer kraut, is sure to 
figure; entremets, “roasts,” garnished with preserved 
cherries, prunes, greengages, &c.; delicious light pastry, 
cheese, and fruit. 

The Viennese are not only a great dining people, but a 
great promenading people likewise; and as I happen to 
have arrived just at the commencement of the centenary 
anniversary of the Maria Theresa fete —a stupendously grand 
occasion—I am clearly in the very nick of time for comment¬ 
ing on the two above-named characteristics. Paris itself can 
scarcely vie with the Austrian capital either in the beauty ot 
its promenades or in the liberal use the inhabitants make 




132 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


of them. The topographical arrangement of the place 
is most peculiar; there is a town within a town. In the 
centre lies the city proper, with the cathedral, palaces, 
public offices, museums, picture galleries, the best streets 
and shops, and about 15,000 inhabitants: this is en¬ 
circled with high walls, bastions, and a deep fosse. Then 
comes a broad belt of green turf called the Glacis, and 
beyond this the Vorstddte , or suburbs, where the mass of the 
population, to the number of400,000, resides. Thus the oldest 
part of the city, contrary to custom, is here the most 
fashionable. The ramparts are now converted into a public 
promenade; but the favourite resort is the Volks-garten on 
the Glacis, where each morning and evening, especially in that 
part of it called the Paradies-garten, you may go and enjoy 
a cup of cafe-au-lait, melange, as they call it here, chocolate, 
ice, &c., &c., and listen to a band of skilful musicians, 
generally that of Strauss, jun. : when I was there it 
was conducted by Strauss himself. No longer now the 
gushing, love-burdened melodies of Italy, but the stern, 
classic, German type—not much soul, but plenty of execu¬ 
tion—beginning and ending in the fingers, instead of welling 
up direct from the heart. 

In consequence of melancholy intelligence from home I 
was unable to examine Vienna as thoroughly as I could 
have wished; but I saw enough to convince me that in its 
own special objects of attraction it is not a whit behind 
the rest of the European capitals. I saw a picture gallery 
which is memorable to me above all else the city contains, 
for the head of an old woman by Balthasar Denner, in which 
every wrinkle, pimple, pore, and furrow, and even the 
watery film over the surface of the eye, are all depicted with 
a faithfulness and delicacy of touch that mocks description. 
Rubens, too, is well represented, having one large room all 
to himself. Go where you will the gigantic works of this 
creative genius rise up before you in numbers more or less 
overwhelming, until you come to the conclusion either that 
he must have been blessed with more hands than other 
people, or that his pupils assisted him liberally with their 
own. I saw also in another portion of this same Palace— 


TRIESTE, ADELSBERG, VIENNA. 


133 


the Belvidere —a collection of armour, considered the richest 
in Europe, and containing among a host of other treasures 
suits that belonged to most of the European sovereigns of 
the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The Imperial Library 
of 300,000 volumes did not interest me much, except for the 
sake of a few curious illustrated MSS. 

In the Church of the Augustines I saw Canova’s last 
celebrated work—a monument to the Archduchess Christina 
of Saxe Teschen —in form pyramidal, like that to himself 
in the Church of the Frari at Venice, which in fact was 
copied from this, only here in the grace and dignity of 
the various figures which adorn it the master-hand is pre¬ 
eminently conspicuous. 

The Cathedral of St. Stephen’s, with its steeple 450 feet 
high, is a noble and imposing pile of Gothic architecture. 
Of course I went to the top of the steeple ; and indeed it is 
well worth the trouble, if only for the sake of a bird’s- 
eye view over the plains of Wagram, Aspern, Fssling, and 
other memorable battle-grounds—not to mention that 
little wooden bench in a niche of the steeple itself, from 
which the brave Governor of Vienna, Count Stahremberg, 
watched the manoeuvres of the Turks as they lay encamped 
before the city in their last siege towards the end of the 
seventeenth century. A couple of Yankees made the ascent 
at the same time, and, true to their national characteristics 
—I refer to the self-confident, “ go-ahead travelling” class 
—they had no sooner reached the top than they turned 
back again.—“ They were not going to waste time in listen¬ 
ing to a parcel of lies from a miserable cicerone, who didn’t 
know half as much about the place as they did themselves.”— 
Down they went, and I thanked my stars when their croak¬ 
ing voices were well out of earshot. When they were gone, 
the guardian of the tower, whose kind offices they had so 
sneeringly spurned, took me into his own peculiar sanctum, 
a small chamber about eighty feet from the top, and ex¬ 
plained to me in an intelligent manner the various interest¬ 
ing objects it contained. Here was the apparatus of a 
telegraph communicating with every part of the town, also 
the complicated machinery of the large clock below, and, 


134 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


carefully stowed away in a little nook, the nine-pins with 
which Count Stahremherg and his companions used to while 
away the time. More interesting still, however, than either 
of these was a contrivance for discovering the name and 
position of any object within a circuit of some twenty or 
thirty miles, used chiefly now by the “ Fire-watch.” Each 
window-sill (and there are windows all round the' room) is 
furnished with a telescope, beneath which two brazen arcs 
are arranged vertically and horizontally, and graduated in 
such a manner that every few yards of space in the city can¬ 
not fail to be represented. Some one is constantly on the 
look-out, and the moment any quarter is lit up with an un¬ 
usual blaze, whether in the city proper or in the Vorstadt, he 
directs the telescope to it, notes exactly the two points on 
the arcs over which it rests, refers to the register in which 
every two points of latitude and longitude are faithfully 
chronicled as street , square , 'public building, &c., and having 
found the particular spot, hastily writes the name on a bit 
of paper, shuts it up in a small oval metal box, and drops it 
down a tube which runs the whole length of the steeple to 
within a few feet of the ground. Communication is thus 
effected with the room on the basement, from whence the 
engines are instantly despatched. About the middle of the 
tower is an enormous bell made out of the metal of 180 
guns taken from the Turks, and weighing nineteen tons. 
The interior of the cathedral is rather gloomy, but there is in 
it some fine old painted glass and an abundance of sculpture. 

Not far from here, against the wall of a house in Kdrnth- 
nerstrasse, is a real curiosity. It looks at a short distance 
like an old battered iron post, but is in reality a relic of the 
ancient forest of Wienerwald, which once extended even to 
this spot, now the heart of the city; the stump, namely, of 
an old tree, so completely bound round by hoops of iron to 
preserve it, and with so many nails driven into it by the 
wandering apprentices of Vienna when setting out on their 
travels, that there is no longer space for more, and the trunk 
has become, as it were, a “ tree of iron,” so as to give to the 
adjacent parts of the street the name of Stock-im-Eisen Platz. 

I visited three of the theatres, but the chief performers 


TRIESTE, ADELSBERG, VIENNA. 


135 


are in the provinces just now, and the acting therefore was 
generally indifferent. The ballets were good, as in fact they 
always are abroad, compared with our own. 

But it is time to say something of the fete before alluded 
to. It lasted for several days, but Thursday was the day par 
excellence —the day on which all its minor delights were to 
culminate in one grand overpowering spectacle that both 
young and old should cherish in their happy memories for 
the rest of their natural lives. The Emperor was to com¬ 
mence the day by a review of 30,000 troops, after which 
there was to be a splendid banquet in the pleasure-gardens at 
the back of the Schonhrunn Palace ; to this the public were 
to be admitted; and in the evening all the resources of 
amusement which the capital could afford, and they are not 
a few, were to be thrown open on the most liberal possible 
scale of charges. I had hoped to meet with an English com¬ 
panion at the “Archduke Charles,” but was disappointed; 
and perhaps after the sad news I had received from home it 
was just as well for him I did not. Alone, therefore, at an 
early hour I sallied forth into the streets, and, mixing with 
the throng—which seemed to me a larger multitude than I 
have ever seen either before or since—I soon perceived, as 
we neared the suburbs, by a buzz of expectation in the 
crowd, that somebody of importance was about to appear: 
it was, in fact, nothing less than a superb cavalcade of 
officers of the highest rank and in the most brilliant 
uniforms, headed by the Emperor himself. They numbered 
about 300, and among them were many representatives of 
other countries—Lord Seaton, to wit—our chief officer at the 
Chobham Camp. We soon reached the open space where 
the review was to take place. But a review of three hours’ 
duration is a tedious business to a mere spectator, however 
interesting to those engaged in it. Consequently, notwith¬ 
standing the thoroughly soldierly appearance of the troops— 
and in my opinion there is not another nation in Europe 
that will bear comparison with them in this respect—I pre¬ 
ferred to ensconce myself snugly beneath the verandah of a 
cafe facing the “ field of battle.” A hot, dusty walk, too, 
huddled in among the serried ranks of a crowd in which 


136 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


both washed and unwashed freely mingled, reminded me 
that I had not yet broken fast, and it was nearly 10 o’clock. 

What I have termed a cafe was more properly a Bierhaus, 
this kind of establishment in Germany being as common as 
cafes in France and public-houses in England, only with a 
much greater resemblance to the French cafe than to the 
English gin-shop. The chief commodities supplied at the 
Bierhaus are beer, bread, and sausages. Unfortunately the 
demand for the latter article had been so exhaustive this 
morning, that I had to breakfast off beer and bread—both 
first-rate of their kind, however—the favourite form of fancy 
bread here being a little crescent-shaped roll which they 
call hdrnchen , light and crusty, and with salt and caraway 
seeds sprinkled over the outside. The Bierhaus was crowded 
with students and others, all engaged in noisy conversation, 
assisted by much gesticulation and drinking of beer. I got 
into parley with three or four of them, and even with my 
slight knowledge of German, could perceive how badly they 
spoke their own language—the Yiennese accent being vili¬ 
fied by contact with the Slavs, whose province is but a short 
distance to the south. In this way, with an occasional 
glimpse through the crowd at the marching and counter¬ 
marching of the military, I contrived to keep free of 
ennui for an hour or so, until I saw a few of the knowing 
ones quietly filing off in a steady but continuous and ever- 
swelling stream in a new direction. Not averse to a change 
of scene, I soon fell into this new line of march, and found 
that it brought me in a few minutes to a grand omnibus 
focus, where many of these vehicles were rapidly filling and 
carrying people out, as I learnt on inquiry, to Schonbrunn, 
the Emperor’s beautiful suburban residence, four miles 
distant, where the banquet was presently to commence. I 
followed with the rest, and on arriving at the great ren¬ 
dezvous saw, by the multitude already collected, the policy 
of thus “taking time by the forelock.” It wanted still a 
couple of hours to the time appointed for the arrival of the 
illustrious feasters, but both the place and the occasion 
afforded ample employment during the interval. First there 
were the gardens—as fair and beautiful as one could desire— 


TRIESTE, ADELSBERG, VIENNA. 


137 


a broad undulating lawn, receding by a gradual incline from 
the back of tbe Palace upwards, to a grove of trees at tbe 
top ; on either side large, stately avenues, terminating in 
a fountain or a group of statuary, with small seductive 
by-paths tempting you into the shrubbery on either hand. 
Then in the spacious interval of gravel between the Palace 
and the lawn, and from which the public are excluded by a 
low iron railing, there are the usual bustling preparations 
which precede a feast—the arrangement of the tables, with 
their appropriate belongings, and the endless disputatious 
gabble of the petty officials. Should this fail to satisfy 
one, an isolated stranger at all events need be at no loss for 
amusement in the midst of an ever-shifting- mass of human 
beings, where language, costume, and the varied by-play 
that is always going on in a crowd, are all new to him. But 
3 o’clock does come at last, and the imperial cortege, 
heralded in by a flourish from one of the bands, takes up a 
prandial position on the first floor of the imperial building— 
the gravelled enclosure before alluded to being appropriated 
to dignitaries of the second order, with side tables for the 
bands, which play continually. At 5 o’clock the weighty 
part of the affair seems to be over, for the Emperor descends 
with his suite into the railed enclosure, and there promenades 
among his officers for half an hour or more, to the wonder¬ 
ing and enthusiastic delight of the vast assemblage on the 
lawn. And now, too, comes the turn of the military bands 
—the finest in Europe, in case you are not already aware of 
the fact. On the appearance of the Emperor, one of them 
strikes up their glorious national anthem—Haydn’s Hymn 
to the Emperor; a second follows with the same about half- 
a-dozen bars in the rear of the first; and a third at a like 
distance behind the second. The harmonies, when they did 
come, were grand; and the discords perhaps no less so. 

By G o’clock most of the people had dispersed to their 
various rendezvous. To me, who felt a little fatigued, the 
nearest was likely to be most acceptable. At Dommeyer's 
Haus, close by, lovers of music were invited to a grand musical 
soiree —item, Strauss’ band, lead by a brother of the cele¬ 
brated composer. The gardens and saloons appeared full of 


138 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

the beau monde (and the demi monde , too, for all I know) 
in their gayest colours, and the appetising savours that rose 
from the culinary portion of the establishment were an 
irresistible argument to one who had only partly broken his 
fast in the morning. I soon found a vacant seat in the 
principal saloon, next to a civil young German, with whom 
I speedily got into conversation. We dined together, listened 
to and applauded the music, exchanged ideas on the various 
groups within sight, and shortly after 10 took a fiacre 
straight back to the city, picking up on the way a friend of 
his who spoke English. In connection with Schonbrunn, I 
ought to mention its having been the residence of Napoleon 
in 1809, when the treaty named after it was signed here: and 
also of his son, the Duke of Reichstadt, who died in one of 
the rooms overlooking the garden, in 1832, at the age of 21. 

Among the favourite promenades of Vienna, nearer home, 
the Prater is worthy of just a passing notice, although no 
longer the fashionable resort it used to be before railroads 
were invented to carry the good citizens to prettier places 
farther off, without any additional loss of time. It is 
nevertheless a fine appendage to Vienna, with some re¬ 
semblance to the Bois de Boulogne at Paris —less ornate, 
perhaps, but more extensive, and full of magnificent trees 
and herds of tame deer. It looks almost deserted, except on 
Sundays and fete days, and then the fun that goes on in the 
People 1 s Prater —which is removed to some little distance from 
the principal carriage drive—the eating of sausages and 
drinking of small beer and still smaller wine, the dancing, 
juggling, acting, singing, skittling, and swinging ! all to the 
ceaseless strumming of ubiquitous music—a scene, in short 
that no words can describe, although a suitable subject 
enough for the pencil of such an artist as our Erith. 

Travellers, and especially Englishmen, have a habit of 
falling out with the social morality of Vienna, calling it the 
most demoralised capital in Europe. It may be the truth ; 
but if so, there is an external decency about its immorality 
that is wonderfully deceptive. Vice does not, at all events, 
flaunt itself in the open street, as with us, although this of 
course is no proof of its non-existence. 


THE DANUBE AND GALATZ. 


139 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE DANUBE AND GxALATZ. 

June 21s£.—It was not my intention on leaving home to 
travel farther eastward than Vienna; but having just re¬ 
ceived news of the appointment of one of my brothers to a 
post in the British Commission at Galatz, the novelty of a 
steam down the Danube to give him a brotherly embrace 
was a temptation not to be resisted. At that ti m e the rail¬ 
way from Vienna was not open farther than to Pesth; and 
as the steamer occupied very little more time than the rail 
over this part of the journey, I decided on doing the whole 
distance of 1,000 miles or so by Dcmipfscliiff. 

This early part of the voyage is extremely picturesque, 
especially on nearing Pesth, the capital of Hungary. Richly 
cultivated fields alternate with undulating hills, receding 
gradually upwards from the shore, and clothed with dense 
woods to their very summits; the lower slopes, however, 
being frequently covered with the vineyards that furnish 
the sweet wines for which this country is so famous. One 
remarkably picturesque object here is the old ruined castle 
that was once the favourite residence of the Hungarian 
sovereigns. It stands perched on the top of a lofty hill—a 
cluster of dilapidated towers peering out from a forest of oak, 
and the shattered fragments of a battlemented wall zig¬ 
zagging down the height to join a noble donjon tower at the 
water side, this latter being chiefly memorable as the prison 
of King Solomon—not the author of the Book of Proverbs, 
but a namesake of the eleventh century. A novel sight here 
is the water-mills for grinding corn ; we have passed some 
hundreds of them. They consist of large barges surmounted 
by little wooden huts, and a wheel attached to the side, the 
men who work them wearing nothing but a calegon round the 
loins. 

The company on board was numerous, but I was the only 
Englishman. I thought indeed to recognise a compatriot in 
a very handsome young fellow of about seven or eight and 


140 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


twenty, and unhesitatingly addressed him in English, when 
what was was my surprise to get for reply— Pardon , 
Monsieur , je n’entends pas VAnglais, mais je parle un peu le 
Frangais He represented himself as a captain in the Hun¬ 
garian dragoons, and first cousin to the late Count d’Orsay, to 
whom, in fact, he bore a wonderful resemblance. He told 
me by the way much of the past history of his country, but 
seemed careful not to hazard any opinion as to her future 
prospects, and I was sorry that a previous engagement with 
a young German prevented my accepting his invitation to 
pass the evening with him at his own house in Pesth. 

The ancient capital of Buda, connected with the modern one 
of Pesth by a superb suspension-bridge over the river, is the 
most attractive of the two from an artist’s point of view, and 
this nine times out of ten is the tourist’s point of view also. 
Its streets are time-worn and lifeless in comparison with 
those of its modern rival; but its upper town or fortress, its 
Palace of the Palatine, and the precipitous cliff called the 
Blocksberg, which faces the river and serves as a background 
to the rest, never fail to secure for it the traveller’s first 
inquiring glances. 

The J'dgershorn (Huntsman’s Horn) in Pesth is the hotel 
selected by my German friend and me for our evening’s 
entertainment; and although not down in ‘ ‘ Murray,” we have 
no reason to regret our choice. It is of the old caravansary 
kind—a large square court with chambers ranging all round 
to the height of several stories, one common uninterrupted 
balcony to each story, and inside this a narrow passage from 
which the rooms are entered. In this delicious climate one 
can sit and enjoy the night air to a late hour with impunity. 
We order our supper in the courtyard, which is converted 
into a species of open-air restaurant , and is redolent with 
the perfume of the orange-trees beneath which our tables 
are spread. Here, as we puff our cigarettes and sip the 
choice beverage of Tokay , criticising this and that group of 
strangers—as we no doubt in turn are objects of speculation 
to others equally idle as ourselves—the hour wears far on 
into the night before we yield to its silent eloquence and 
betake ourselves to rest. 


THE DANUBE AND GALATZ. 


141 


June 23rd .—My German friend, who was to have taken an 
early “ constitutional ” with me this morning, is bed-ridden 
—with a cold he says—which is a cruel blow to our last 
night’s philosophy about the harmless quality of the twilight 
air. Albeit, I am no sufferer myself, and set out at 6 
o’clock on an expedition across the suspension-bridge, 
through the old town of Buda , and up to the top of the 
Blocksberg, which is crowned with a formidable array of 
fortified masonry. Ten minutes to inhale the bracing air and 
enjoy a gloriously extensive view over the windings of the 
river and the varied scenery through which it passes, and in 
less than an hour I am again in the modern portion of this 
double capital, taking a peep at the interior of one or two of 
the churches, which the natives consider unique specimens 
of decorative art, but which bear no comparison with those 
we have seen in Italy; then admiring the really fine and 
cleanly streets, with shops of Parisian elegance ; and finally 
wondering at the strange condition of a country where every 
public announcement, down to the humble tradesman’s 
definition of his wares, is obliged to be made in two lan¬ 
guages—those of the governing and of the governed. At 
9 o’clock under way again for an uninterrupted voyage 
of four days to Galatz. We have a larger and better ap- 
pointed vessel than the one we came in from Vienna —the 
Franz Josef , with a jovial little Austrian for a captain ; fair 
embryo moustache, curling up at each end towards a pair of 
merry, twinkling eyes, and a dapper little nose for ever 
sniffing the air; a man full of drollery and of inexhaustible 
information, hailing from at least half the ports in both 
hemispheres, and with a tongue that could accommodate 
itself to some eight or ten different languages. It may 
readily be imagined he was a universal favourite, and a 
special one with me from his recollections of my brother, 
whom he had brought with him on the same journey three 
weeks previously. 

It was rather singular to find myself the only Englishman 
on board among a party of about thirty, containing repre¬ 
sentatives of at least a dozen different nations. And 
still more singular, perhaps, that under such circumstances 


142 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


I should be able to look back to this portion of my tour as 
one of the most enjoyable. A little vanity may possibly 
have had something to do with this, inasmuch as I found 
myself the chosen companion of a young Trench nobleman 

about my own age, the Marquis de P-; but as we 

were thrown much more together in a subsequent part of 
my tour I will defer for the present any more particular 
reference to him, and hasten on with a brief narrative of the 
voyage. 

For 400 miles below Pesth a blank sheet of paper would 
best describe the scenery; it has all to be imagined, in fact, 
consisting, as it does, of one vast unbroken plain, with 
scarcely so much as a hut to relieve it in its entire length. 
I refer, of course, only to that portion of it contiguous to 
the river. In the interior it is said to be thinly sprinkled 
over with hamlets miserably inhabited, chiefly by shepherds 
and humble cultivators of the soil, which in parts is so rich 
as to make one wish it were in better hands. Where nature 
contributes so little to our entertainment, therefore, it is 
fortunate for us that the social resources of our little 
Damjofschijf are so abundant. It has the American arrange¬ 
ment of a house on deck, with a capacious and handsomely 
furnished saloon, and a cabin underneath, in which the 
berths are arranged in two long rows, one above the other, 
on each side; the ladies, of course, of whom there are eight 
or ten, having one to themselves. 

Eating and drinking form no small item in steamboat life. 
We have four meals a day. Coffee the first thing in the 
morning, dejeuner a la fourchette at half-past 10, dinner at 5, 
tea at half-past 8. A piano would have been a great boon; 
but with books, conversation, chess, draughts, and cards, 
there was no lack of amusement. One of the pleasantest 
features of the day was the half hour after breakfast and 
dinner, when the whole company mounted to the upper 
deck, the gentlemen taking coffee and smoking cigarettes , or 
promenading with the ladies. Nor was even the tragic 
element wanting, for one night the cook belonging to the 
family of a Moldavian banker on board mysteriously dis¬ 
appeared. lie was last seen on the foredeck, late in the 



THE DANUBE AND GALATZ. 


143 


evening, much the worse for liquor, and it was naturally 
inferred that he had fallen overboard; but nothing further 
was heard of him during the voyage. 

On the afternoon of the second day, the monotony of the 
plain began to yield to scenery of a more interesting cha¬ 
racter. The hills, which we had only seen hitherto in the 
far-off distance, now begin to near the shore, and presently 
rise in steep limestone rocks on either side. Now and then 
the picturesque debris of an old castle or fort looks sternly 
down from the top of some rugged height, reminding one, 
although on a grander scale, of the wilder portions of the 
Rhine. At length we enter-the wondrous “ defile of Kazan,” 
where the bed of the river, which in places has exceeded 
a mile in breadth, becomes suddenly contracted to a span 
of 200 yards, flanked on both sides by supendous cliffs 
rising to a height of at least 2,000 feet. To add to the 
interest of the scene, traces of Eoman ingenuity, seven¬ 
teen centuries ago, are still apparent in a long horizontal 
groove, deeply cut into the face of the rock, with a series 
of square holes beneath, at about ten feet above the 
ordinary water-level. By means of a wooden shelf* resting 
* in the groove, and supported by beams inserted into the 
sockets below, a serviceable causeway or towing-path was 
formed, which was long afterwards known as the Via 
Trajana, from the emperor in whose reign it was constructed. 
We have scarcely emerged from this majestic pass, when 
the captain informs us that the celebrated Iron Gate of the 
Danube is already in sight. We naturally strain our eyes 
to catch the first indications of this noble object—some ram¬ 
pant lofty rock, surely, or a still more stupendous defile than 
the one we have just quitted; but nothing of the kind 
appears, and it is only when we are actually passing over 
the formidable barrier to which the Turks have given this 
somewhat equivocal appellation, that we become aware of 
our proximity to it. It consists of a level surface of rock, 
spreading from shore to shore, and extending down the 
river (which is here 1,000 yards wide) for more than a mile 
on an inclined plain. Here and there the rapid stream 
dashes impetuously over a sudden fall of eight or ten feet, 


144 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


and the very narrow channel by which vessels can pass is, at 
this season of the year, rendered extremely difficult of navi¬ 
gation from the fact of this rugged plateau of rock being 
just sufficiently covered to make the border line almost 
imperceptible. The scenery on the banks is not so imposing 
as that we have just left behind; but the angry surging 
of the swift waters, and the exciting nature of the transit, 
combine to create an impression on our minds more durable 
than that of any other episode in the voyage. 

We now pass rapidly in succession Kola fat, Widdin, Giur- 
gevo, Oltenitza , and Silistria, all of them places more or less 
famous in the late Turco-Russian war. At some of the 
smaller towns, where we stop for a few minutes, either to 
land passengers or to take in cargo, we have an excellent 
opportunity of observing the gradual change in the costume 
and physiognomy of the natives. As we near Galatz they 
begin to assume, on the Turkish side particularly, a terribly 
wild and forbidding aspect—dark complexions, untrimmed 
moustaches, savage expression of face, long, straggling hair, 
breasts exposed to the sun, and bronzed by its broiling rays; 
with a scantiness of clothing that is more observable, perhaps, 
in the women than the men. The people are said to be very 
inoffensive, however, and even hospitable in their way. At 
one little village, where we stopped for an hour or so, a 
number of dirty, sallow-looking females were congregated 
on a bank close to the wharf, many of them suckling their 
infants. Some of our party found amusement in distributing 
small coins among them, for which they were rewarded 
with what sounded like a compromise between a lick and a 
kiss on the hand. Having once witnessed the operation, I 
preferred to restrain my charity in order to avoid the receipt, 
especially as I was informed that to refuse it was the greatest 
insult you could offer them. 

I parted from the Marquis and his mentor, Professor 

B-, at Giurgevo, where they landed to visit a Wallachian 

prince; not without sanguine hopes of meeting again 
some ten days hence at Galatz. We came to an anchor 
before this last-named town early on the morning of the 
fifth day from Vienna , having made an unusually rapid 



THE DANUBE AND GALATZ. 


145 


voyage; and it was with unspeakable delight that I saw my 
brother already on the pier awaiting my arrival. We drove 
at once to the house of the British Commissioner, Major 

S-, to whose courtesy I was indebted for one of the happiest 

weeks of my tour. Since the establishment of the Commis¬ 
sion, and the consequent opening up of the Sulina mouth to 
vessels of much larger tonnage than had hitherto been able 
to ascend the river, Galatz has been gradually rising into 
very considerable importance, and bids fair to rival even 
Odessa as one of the great European marts for com. The 
old town, which lies close down by the river-side, is by no 
means inviting in appearance; but on the hill above houses 
of a comfortable modern aspect are rapidly rising, and in a 
very few years, doubtless, the condition of the place, both 
socially and physically, will have undergone a complete 
metamorphosis. 

A ball given by the Major at his own residence, on the 
day after my arrival, enabled me to form some superficial 
estimate of the society of Galatz , the company numbering 
little short of a hundred. It is true the beau sexe mustered in 
the proportion of only one to three ; but this disparity of force 
rendered their amiability only the more conspicuous, parti¬ 
cularly in the custom which here prevails, and in which they 
appear most cheerfully to acquiesce, of waltzing or polking 
with two or three different partners in the same dance. The 
ball-room was chiefly remarkable for an ingenious and 
effective device, in the way of illumination, by the captain 
of one of the English gunboats. This consisted of semicir¬ 
cular pieces of wood, fixed against the wall, with radiating 
iron sockets to hold the men’s bayonets, each of which re¬ 
flected the light of a wax taper in front of it, so as to create 
a really dazzling and novel effect. Add to this the varied 
uniforms of the officers from the different gunboats; the 
Turkish costume of Omer Pasha, President of the Commis¬ 
sion, and his secretary, with the national fez , which nothing 
would induce them to remove; the belles of Galatz, with their 
brilliant robes and coiffure Parisienne ,—and you have some 
of the elements at least of a “west end” reunion a la mode. 
There was of course the refreshment-room, where ices, tea, 



146 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


coffee, &c., were in unceasing request; and, from time to 
time, the young gallants conducted their fair partners through 
a hall, decorated, after an impromptu fashion, with flags and 
other disposable drapery, and up a staircase laid with crimson 
cloth, into the drawing-room, where books, prints, and views 
photographic, stereoscopic, and lithographic, covered the 
tables for their diversion. The supper was all that could be 
desired, and the company separated about 3 o’clock. The 
ladies of the ball were daughters of some of the wealthy 
Greek merchants, who abound here—fine, dark, warmly- 
tinted complexions, and a classic outline of feature, with an 
infusion of English rotundity; or girls who, having received 
a Parisian or a Wiener education, were proportionately con¬ 
sequential and taciturn. 

With the seven Commissioners and their families, the 
numerous Moldavian and Greek merchants with their fami¬ 
lies, and the officers of the various gunboats, one would 
give the town credit for possessing at least two or three 
respectable places of evening entertainment; but, from 
whatever cause, whether from the mixed nationalities of 
which the society is composed, or from the very sudden 
manner in which the place has risen into importance, Galatz 
is in this respect lamentably deficient. There is, however, a 
theatre. True, it is little better than a barn externally, but 
inside it has at least the fittings, and somewhat of the deco¬ 
rations, of a theatre; and its stage, though none of the largest 
or of the most solid, rarely condescends, I believe, to support 
other than operatic performers. What if you do hear them 
nailing up the scenery between the acts, and what if a por¬ 
tion of it does fall heavily on the boards just at the crisis of 
the plot, extinguishing half the foot-lights, grazing the nose 
of the principal character in its descent, and throwing the 
audience into convulsions; what if the gentlemen artistes 
will amuse themselves by practising their parts very audibly 
behind the drop-curtain; and what if the voice of the 
prompter be occasionally twice as loud as that of the actor, 
—is it not, for all that, an Italian opera-house, and is there 
not always a prima donna, and an orchestra composed of the 
elite of the military band, with a native violin or two to 


THE DANUBE AND GABATZ. 


147 


fill up the gaps ? It is:—and much more to the worthy 
Moldavs ; for I verily believe, that without this to look for¬ 
ward to at the close of a sultry summer’s day, many of 
them would simply die of ennui. Au reste, suffice it to say, 
that a small party of us went one evening to see Bigoletto, 
and I have rarely been more amused. 

Then for “ society’s ” promenade, how shall we define it ? 
Alas ! does it exist F Certainly, nothing worthy of the name 
either within the limits of the old or of the new town. Like 
the place itself, perhaps, it is in the transition state from old 
to new. In the immediate precincts the prospect is still less 
cheering. You no sooner arrive at one of the extremities 
than you are assailed by a troop of animals claiming a genus 
between a wolf and the most ferocious shepherd’s dog you 
ever saw. Show fear, and you’ll probably escape with one 
ear, or seven fingers and a thumb ; but flourish a stick about 
you, or, better still, if you have a whip with a long lash, let 
it fly just once into the midst of them, and immediate flight 
and a prolonged howl will be the result; for, like their 
masters, the ferocious-looking native boors, they are great 
cowards. Many of these animals have probably no masters, 
and are no better than a wild fraternity of lawless freebooters, 
sneaking about the purlieus of the town, and snapping up 
without ceremony anything that crosses their path in the 
shape of prey. The rest possibly belong to the individuals, 
almost as savage in appearance as themselves, who tenant 
the little row of cottages dotted semi-circularly round the 
town on the north side towards the plain. These are the 
millers, each having his little cot, his square plot of ground 
covered with three feet of rubbish, and his wooden windmill 
with its ten or a dozen fans at the back—humble little 
tenements, yet sufficiently picturesque at a distance, not¬ 
withstanding their uniformity and the regular intervals at 
which they are placed. Beyond these—plains, plains, plains, 
as far as the eye can reach, broken only by the sheen of 
Lake Bratesch on one side, and the river Sireth on the other. 
Five miles out, also, there is just one other little inter¬ 
ruption to the monotony of this dreary waste ; and a highly 
satisfactory one too, I imagine, to some of the dust-worn 


148 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. * 

spirits of Galatz on a summer holiday—a shady little wood, 
namely, on the banks of the Sireth ; and thither one evening 
I made a solitary pilgrimage on horseback. It was, in fact, 
the only place in the immediate environs worth visiting. 
A pretty, coquettish little wood, broken every here and 
there by small vineyards, orchards, and crops of maize; 
shady footpaths meandering about in all directions, and 
generally conducting, as I found, to verdant spots by the 
river-side, with unmistakable indications of the bygone 
'picnic, or its Moldavian equivalent. I disturbed one magni¬ 
ficent bird of the hawk tribe, which hovered for a long time 
over my head, as though he were half disposed to dispute 
my further passage, but dropped his wings and floated 
quietly away at the brandishing of my stick ; and cuckoos, 
the only other living objects I saw, were as plentiful as 
blackbirds with us. A few wolves are said to haunt the 
place in the winter ; and, in the marshy parts of the plain, 
storks, bustards, flamingos, snipes, geese, and ducks, more 
or less abound; while in the large forests which begin at a 
distance of thirty or forty miles from Galatz, more noble 
game, in the shape of wild boars, deer, wolves, and foxes, 
afford capital sport for the rifle during the winter months— 
the last-named animal being looked upon here as legiti¬ 
mate “ food for powder.” The rara avis, however, is the 
primitive Moldave himself. Features heavy and expression¬ 
less, or what expression there is bordering on the ferocious ; 
a skin varying from the sickly yellow to a very dark bronze; 
hair and moustache equally akin to vegetables running to 
seed; and a costume which may be characterised generally 
as something very loose and untidy, surmounted by a Tartar 
fur cap, or a wide-awake of the coarsest felt. The women 
dress much in the same neglige fashion, with seldom more 
than a thin bit of muslin over the bosom; while the hard 
work to which they are introduced at an early age soon 
deprives them of any pretensions they may previously have 
had to feminine grace or beauty. In some of the new 
houses then erecting, I observed that the number of women 
employed was often greater even than that of the men, and, 
moreover, that the heaviest portion of the labour—the 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 


149 


shouldering of bricks and mortar—usually devolved upon 
them, and this, too, under 112 degrees of temperature, which 
was about the average heat during my visit. With every 
precaution we found it impossible to keep one of the rooms 
under 80 degrees Fahrenheit during any part of the day. 

If I have been more minute in the description of Galatz 
than its hitherto comparative obscurity would seem to 
warrant, it is partly perhaps on account of the personal 
interest with which to me it is invested, and also because its 
importance as a great commercial port is rapidly on the 
increase; and as a mart for corn it is already, as I said 
before, becoming a powerful rival to Odessa. The few 
remarks I have made also on the general aspect of the 
country and of its inhabitants will apply to a very wide 
district in this part of Europe. But I must hasten on now 
to that great metropolis of oriental life— Constantinople. 


CHAPTER XII. 

CONSTANTINOPLE. 

It w r as just before midnight on July 2nd that I parted from 
my dear brother, not* without many an anxious thought on 
his account, as I remembered what I had heard of the pre¬ 
valence of fever and ague from this part of the river down¬ 
wards, and the numerous instances in which its results are 
fatal. Fortunately the Major’s house and the offices of the 
Commission are situated in the upper town, which is gene¬ 
rally free from this evil. 

Happily, the first person I met on board was the Marquis 

de P-. We of course “ chummed ” immediately, and sat 

down to a recital of our respective adventures since parting, 
cooling our palates the while with some delicious rose-leaf 
preserve, two or three large jars of which had been presented 
to the Marquis by a Wallachian prince—first a spoonful of 
preserve and then a sip of water—and so on far into the 





150 


CONTINENT AX WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


night. The item in his adventures which seemed to have 
made most impression on the Marquis was a game at cards 
with the Governor of Giurgevo, in which the latter was so 
uncourteous as to relieve him of two or three hundred francs. 
At Bucharest they were entertained successively by two 
princes and the Governor—the last of whom, more of a 
gentleman than his brother of Giurgevo , not only did not 
challenge him to a game of cards (which, considering the 
Wallachians are desperate gamblers, would be a downright 
inhospitable act), but lent him a carriage and horses, with a 
mounted soldier as escort, to bring them across the country 
to Galatz. 

The voyage to Constantinople occupied rather more than 
two days, and the vessel—one of the Austrian Lloyd’s—was 
crammed with passengers of all descriptions and of many 
different nations. It was a wretched specimen of a boat for 
so highly respectable and well regulated a company as the 
Austrian Lloyd, but quite good enough they doubtless con¬ 
sider for the unwashed samples of humanity that mostly 
crowd its decks. A low railing running down the centre of 
the aft-deck was the only separation between the first and 
second class passengers, the latter consisting chiefly of 
Greeks and Turks. At one end squatted the men with their 
chibouques and nargilehs constantly in their mouths; at the 
other lay huddled together the women—a group of the 
grossest and most insipid-looking females I ever saw. As 
to the scene enacted among them when we got fairly out 
into the Black Sea, and began capering about on the backs 
of a few of its “white horses,” it can be more easily 
imagined than described. 

There was little to interest us on the way; for those 
wonderful works of engineering art which have now opened 
up the Danube to vessels of almost any tonnage, and for the 
successful carrying out of which the chief engineer, Mr. 
Charles Hartley, has since been knighted, were at that time 
only in the first stage of progress, and the village of Sulina 
is but a small cluster of miserable wooden huts, on a flat, 
arid, sandy shore. It lies at the entrance to the central one 
of the three main channels traversing the so-called Delta of 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 


151 


the Danube —a vast swampy area, covered with bulrushes, 
and tenanted by herds of wild buffaloes, and countless flocks 
of gulls, pelicans, wild-fowl, and other feathery tribes; one 
solitary high-soaring eagle we saw as we steamed along. 

We stopped for a couple of hours at Varna , chiefly 
notable to us as one of the stations of the Allied army during 
the late war. The Professor and I went on shore, and after 
taking a hasty survey of the multitude of new houses then 
erecting to repair the ravages of the recent fire, amused 
ourselves with going through the tedious process of purchas¬ 
ing a Turkish chibouque —the tube at one shop, the bowl at 
another, the amber mouthpiece at a third, and finally going- 
back to the first to have them all fitted together. The 
Eastern shopkeeper is a character not easily forgotten. He 
wears the loose Turkish costume, capped with turban or fez , 
as the case may be, has generally a long grizzly moustache 
and beard, squats cross-legged on the floor of his shop, 
which is open to the air, raised three feet from the ground, 
and serves at the same time for a counter, whereon his 
wares are disposed with utter disregard to order or effect. 
When you present yourself as a purchaser, if a native, you 
will probably be invited to a vacant space on the boards, 
and carry on your negotiations over a friendly pipe and coffee; 
but if only a Giaour, the shopkeeper does not rise to salute 
you, because then his chibouque would have to rise too, and 
this is not convenient. You perhaps discern just the smallest 
inclination of the head, and the slightest approach to a leer 
of satisfaction on his drowsy features as he scents the purse 
of an infidel; yet so incapable of exertion is he, that if you 
are not satisfied with the price he first names, which is 
always monstrously exorbitant, he will generally allow you 
to go away without the least effort to secure your custom by 
offering an abatement; and yet, if you choose to persevere, 
you may always get what you want for about a third of the 
sum he originally asked. On our return to the vessel, my 
little fat learned friend created quite a sensation on board by 
the deliberate, philosophical air with which he curled him¬ 
self up, Turkwise, on the deck, and puffed vigorously away 
at our late purchase. 


152 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

We entered the Bosphorus in the early morning, just as 
the sun was “tipping the hills with gold.” It seemed as 
though we had passed in one night from the rugged world 
of nature and every-day life into the land of dreams. Count¬ 
less and various is the number of kiosks, palaces, and villas 
which keep saluting us as we advance, their white masonry 
starting up in dazzling relief from the soft, sunny, undu¬ 
lating slopes on either side. Caiques, not very unlike the 
Venetian gondolas, are gliding languidly along over the 
surface of an almost unruffled sea, and soon the glittering 
minarets of the mosques in the great city itself are peeping 
at us over the brow of a distant hill. Finally, this huge 
fact of oriental life—this overgrown, distantly beautiful, 
bemosqued and bepinnacled metropolis, with its 800,000 of 
inhabitants—is before us. 

The spectacle would have been more overpowering, per¬ 
haps, had we approached the city from the Sea of Marmora, 
where there are fewer indications of Eastern life than had been 
presented to us in our course down the Bosphorus ; but come 
upon it from where you will, it is a scene that must ever 
stamp itself indelibly upon the memory. The Golden Horn, 
serpentining gracefully away between Stamboul proper on 
the left, and Galata and Bera on the right; the manifold 
shipping floating upon its waters as far as the eye can reach; 
the busy plying to and fro of the caiques; the gay diversity 
of costume, where half the nations of the world are repre¬ 
sented ; the indescribable mingling of mosques and palaces 
and wooden houses, with here and there a dark green spot, 
bristling with cypresses, to mark the resting-place of the 
dead—all this has been so often described, drawn, and photo¬ 
graphed, that one scarcely needs even to mention the prin¬ 
cipal points in order to recall the whole fairy-like scene. 
Alas ! that one should be obliged to confess that here, in 
the favouring distance, its many picturesque beauties both 
begin and end. From the moment you step ashore and 
cross the threshold of the dirty custom house at Tophanu to 
the period of your departure, the more you can ignore the 
existence of your five estimable senses, the better it will be 
for you. That of sight, in fact, is the only one which is at 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 


153 


all likely to be in any degree satisfied—at the expense, 
albeit, of the other four. 

It was 6 o’clock on Sunday morning when we landed. 
Having been informed that the Hotel de VAngleterre was the 
only one which boasted any degree of comfort whatever, 
and was, moreover, one of the score or so of houses, out 
of about two or three hundred thousand, built of stone, I 
decided at once to take up my quarters there. The landlord 
is popularly known amongst Eastern travellers as ‘ ‘ King 
Missiri,” and is said to exercise his authority in a somewhat 
tyrannical manner. lie insists, for instance, on the exhor- 
bitant charge of seventeen francs per diem for each indi¬ 
vidual, and this comprises only breakfast, dinner, and bed ; 
bougies, attendance, and any other extras being paid for in 
proportion. And should it unfortunately happen on your 
arrival that the only vacant bed-room is a double-bedded 
one, and no friend to share it with you, you have the addi¬ 
tional privilege of paying thirty-four francs instead of seven¬ 
teen. In reference to this rather arbitrary law, an amusing 
tale is told of a certain traveller who, indignant at the impo¬ 
sition, and not very choice, one would say, in his company, 
went to the hall-door, seized upon the first dirty-looking 
native who passed, and insisted on calling him his friend, 
and making him share his room and take his place with the 
rest at the table d'hote. What effect this had upon the stern 
potentate I did not learn, but I imagine it was not calculated 
to soften his severity. My companions, having letters to 
their ambassador, preferred the Hotel dies Ambassadeurs, con¬ 
necting the two together in some way probably. 

I picked up an agreeable companion at the breakfast-table, 
and we went to church together at the English Embassy in 
the morning. In the afternoon a guide took us to see the 
Dancing Dervishes—the most ludicrous exhibition in all 
Constantinople. The scene of their performances was the 
interior of a small circular mosque. Some fifty or sixty 
strangers besides ourselves were present to witness the 
ceremony—the central area being railed off for the gyrations 
of the devotees. These were about thirty in number, of all ages, 
from fifteen to seventy, and garbed in long cloaks of various 


154 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


colours, reaching to the ground, with tall, white felt hats, 
like a flower-pot reversed. One of them, in a bright green 
cloak, opened the entertainment by drawling out what 
seemed to be either a long prayer or an address in a very 
monotonous tone of voice, relieved occasionally by a gesture 
or genuflexion from one of the circle, with now and then a 
squeak from some wretched musical instrument in the 
gallery. When this had ended, an agonising strain of 
music, a sort of “ cats’ chorus ” in fact, was heard to proceed 
from this same gallery, which set the whole company in 
motion. They began by marching in solemn procession 
round the circular space in the centre, each one, as he passed 
the altar, turning round and making a profound salutation 
to the one who followed him. Suddenly the music assumed 
a wild, martial tone. The cloaks were hastily thrown off, 
disclosing a long white garment like a petticoat gathered 
into small plaits at the waist, and the feet bare. And now 
one by one they began twirling round and round in a most 
extraordinary manner, performing the double motion of the 
earth round the sun—preserving always the same momentum, 
viz., about sixty times to the minute, and keeping up one 
regular movement with the feet. With their inverted 
flower-pots all inclined towards one shoulder, their arms 
extended, and their petticoats flying out to an extent that 
would be alarming even in a modern crinoline, they gave 
one the idea of an assembly of animated mushrooms. This 
exciting portion of the service lasts for about an hour, 
interrupted once or twice, for the sake of poor human 
nature, by the slow procession before alluded to. It would 
have been too monotonous, not to say harrowing to the 
feelings, to stay it out to the end; suffice it to say that they 
keep it up till, one after the other, they all sink down with 
giddiness and fatigue ; and finally wind up with a general 
embrace. We stayed long enough to see two or three of the 
younger ones drop off, the perspiration streaming profusely 
down their faces; while, on some of the older hands, the 
effect up to that moment was quite imperceptible. What 
kind of deity it is they hope to propitiate by this eccentric 
mode of worship I am at a loss to divine, but it was certainly 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 


155 


a spectacle that I am never likely to forget. At Scutari, on 
the opposite side of the Bosphorus, the mysteries of the 
Howling Dervishes are- celebrated; but these are said to be 
not so entertaining as those we have just seen. 

This is assuredly a city of strange sights; for we have 
scarcely emerged from the mosque when we find ourselves 
crossing a continuous stream of people wending their way 
towards the outskirts of the town, and are informed that the 
attraction consists in the inauguration of a grand septennial 
religious fete, called the Fete de la Circoncision. It lasts 
fourteen days, and on the present occasion no fewer than 
14,000 little Moslem saplings, from one to seven years of 
age, have to undergo the painful ordeal. It is a novel scene 
to an inhabitant of western Europe—I do not mean the 
ceremony itself, because that goes on under a tent to which 
only the faithful are admitted—but the whole paraphernalia 
of tents and strange equipages, with the motley groups 
assembled about them on the hills above Pera. The tents 
(which are mostly of canvas that was once white, but is no 
longer so) are ranged by the side of innumerable little sandy 
roads intersecting the plain. Many of them are owned by 
Pashas or other high dignitaries ; and these gorgeous indi¬ 
viduals may be seen from sunrise to sunset lounging on 
luxurious divans, smoking incessantly, and gazing dreamily 
on the ever-shifting scene before them. Other smaller 
erections are occupied by vendors of coffee, lemonade, and 
other refreshing beverages—from whose lips likewise the 
eternal nargileh is never parted. Women in countless 
numbers crowd upon the low banks which border the roads; 
but the white yashmac with which the faces of all but the 
Greek portion of the population are covered up to the eyes, 
deprives them of all attraction. Here and there, it is true, 
you may observe a veil of finer texture and fewer folds than 
the rest, half revealing what may be a prettier set of features 
than ordinary, but still leaving the complexion an open—or 
should I not rather say a covered—question. Beauty, how¬ 
ever, is said to be an extremely rare quality beyond the 
harems of the rich, and there it is confined chiefly to the 
Circassians. We were fortunate enough to get just a glimpse 


156 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


of the favourite Sultana as she was coming up to the fete in 
a gimcrack toy of a carriage, attended by the head eunuch, 
a hideous black monster, on horseback, and a wretched 
body-guard of cavalry. It so happened that as we passed 
she had occasion to lean forward in the carriage in order to 
give some command to her colossal attendant. In doing 
this it was necessary partially to remove the tantalising 
yashmac, thereby momentarily revealing to us the vision of 
a ringleted beauty, such as Moore would have converted 
into a houri on the spot. One of my countrymen, by-the-bye, 
sadly committed himself to-day in endeavouring to satisfy his 
curiosity. The lady in question was passing with the same 
escort along a narrow street, when the bold Briton, thinking it 
an opportunity not to be lost, I suppose, presented himself so 
intrusively at the carriage window, that the black chief was 
obliged to order him off at the point of the sword. The 
“ British Lion” was immediately roused, and in the struggle 
which ensued its representative came off with the honourable 
distinction of a fractured skull. Such, at least, was my 
guide’s statement of the affair, who vowed he was standing 
by when it happened. 

In the evening I sought my two friends at their hotel, in 
the hope of inducing them to join me in a caique for the 
purpose of seeing the grand illuminations which were to 
take place after dark. I was surprised to find them in total 
ignorance of this superb spectacle, and on the point even of 
turning in for the night. It had certainly been a fatiguing 
day for us all, and nothing would induce them to leave the 
hotel at such a late hour. After some persuasion, however, 
I enticed them to an elevated terrace at the top of the 
house, which commanded a sufficiently extensive view for 
the purpose. And surely no city in the world can be more 
admirably adapted for such a display than this of Constan¬ 
tinople , with its mosques , its Golden Horn, and other pic¬ 
turesque surroundings. Many of the tents on the heights 
above Pera were brilliantly illuminated, and from the same 
quarter rockets and other fiery meteors were from time to 
time discharged. Festoons of lanterns hung across from 
one minaret to another; the vessels in the Golden Horn had 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 


157 


been gaily decked with flags and strings of many-coloured 
lights; while a multitude of caiques , distinguishable only 
by their one solitary lamp, were stealing softly oyer the 
smooth surface of the Bosphorus. It was as though the 
stars had come down for an evening promenade; and but 
for the too palpable fact of human habitations around us, it 
would have been easy to imagine ourselves in some enchanted 
scene of fairyland. 

The next morning early the Marquis and I went through 
the ordeal of a Turkish bath, some description of which I 
may as well attempt to give. After passing through the 
entrance hall, we were ushered into a large and lofty cir¬ 
cular apartment, where those who had already gone through 
the process were lounging on beds and couches, the furniture 
of which was truly gorgeous to behold. As the area of this 
room was full, we were conducted into a spacious gallery 
which ran across one end of it. Here we undressed, 
and were decorated, as to the loins, with a parti-coloured 
garment which hung down below the knees, while our feet 
were thrust into a clumsy pair of wooden clogs. Thus 
equipped, we were marched downstairs again into a small 
ante-chamber, where the temperature was somewhat higher, 
and then after resting a minute or so here, entered, without 
further preparation, the apartment where the serious part of 
the business was to unfold itself. This, like the first, was 
also a large and lofty circular hall, only with bare walls and a 
flagstone pavement. In the centre was a large round slab of 
white marble, raised about a foot from the floor, on which 
some half dozen young Mussulmen lay extended, lazily 
splashing one another with the water that trickled down 
from a fountain occupying the middle of it. Our own fate 
was to be seated on another low platform of white marble 
which ran all round the room against the wall, with a liberal 
supply of hot-water spouts and small metal bowls ranged at 
convenient heights and intervals. Here we sat, therefore, 
gasping for breath; for so extravagantly hot was the vapoury 
atmosphere, that ten minutes at least elapsed before our 
breathing apparatus could become at all reconciled to it. 
This appeared highly diverting to the young Turks, who, 


158 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


when the first vacant stare and surprise at our intrusion had 
subsided, began to encourage us in our painful struggle 
with respiration by calling out, “ Buono Johnny, buono 
Johnny /” to every effort that was rewarded with success. 
I have a strong impression, however, that we ought to have 
remained much longer in the tepidarium, and that our hasty 
introduction to this overpowering temperature was slyly 
designed on the part of the attendant to afford a little merri¬ 
ment to his regular subscribers. 'When a quarter of an hour 
or more had passed, and the perspiration began to ooze from 
every pore in the skin, a determined-looking youth ap¬ 
proached us with a rough horse-hair glove on his right hand, 
which he immediately set to applying much in the same way 
as an ostler would a curry-comb, bringing off either the 
surface of the skin, or its accretions, or both together, in 
little rolls. After this, by command of the operator, and 
with the skin, as may be conceived, in an exceedingly sensi¬ 
tive condition, we had to occupy ourselves for the next ten 
minutes or so by splashing over us the water that constantly 
ran from the little spotits at our side, and which we thought 
could not be far from boiling-point—our grimaces again 
affording sport to the idle young dogs beneath the fountain. 
Then our curry-comb friend hove in sight again, but this 
time with a bowl full of lather and a heap of stringy stuff like 
the head of an old mop. Having smothered us from head 
to foot until we were past recognition, he began pommelling 
us in all directions with the tips of his fingers, yet not so 
roughly as to render the operation altogether distasteful; 
and finally he restored us to our natural complexion by 
dashing over us bowl after bowl of hot water. We now put 
on our clogs again, and passed into the tepidarium , where 
we were each of us wrapped up in about half-a-dozen towels, 
one being dextrously twisted round the head in the form of 
a turban. Thence we reascended to the place where we had 
undressed, and stretched ourselves out on a species of couch 
that accommodated itself most delightfully to the natural 
bend of the limbs—the attendant covering us up with blan¬ 
kets, which, with the towels, were gradually removed as we 
became accustomed to the change of temperature. The 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 


159 


orthodox sequel to a bath of this kind, and while you are in 
this dolce far niente posture, is a chibouque and a cup of coffee 
—the latter served in a very small cup, without either sugar 
or milk, but with a few grains of the berry sprinkled over 
the top, and very delicious; but for this we felt indisposed 
to afford the time, having already spent nearly a couple of 
hours there. The baths, now increasing so rapidly in our 
own country, and in which it is customary to plunge into a 
cold bath immediately after the hot one, would be more cor¬ 
rectly called Eoman baths. 

In the after part of the day, while my friend went to pay a 
ceremonial visit to the French ambassador, I stepped across 
one of the long bridges crossing the harbour to have a look 
at Stamboul proper. And one peep is quite enough for one 
day. In point of narrow streets, rickety wooden houses, dirty 
people, howling dogs, and unpleasant smells, it surpasses 
anything we have yet seen on the other side of the Horn. 
Dogs, as scavengers of the streets, are quite an institution 
here, and appear to be public property. They lie sprawling 
about in the footway by scores, and if by accident you tread 
on a tail or a paw—and this you will probably do at least a 
dozen times in the course of a morning’s walk—the poor 
animal limps off with a howl that has the most unearthly 
twang of any noise I ever heard. Many of these dogs are 
large and handsome, but the common type is that of a dege¬ 
nerate Italian or Pomeranian breed. 

Our third day here was a busy one. We had resolved, in 
fact, to avail ourselves of a steamer leaving for Athens 
in the afternoon of the following day, and found it necessary 
therefore to utilise our time to the utmost; yet not sorry of 
the opportunity of escaping so soon from a place whose attrac¬ 
tions are only felt at a distance. 

With the thermometer standing at about 120° Fahrenheit 
in the sun, we set out for the Bazaars , which lie in Stamboul; 
and it is about the only spot inside the walls where one feels 
disposed to linger. There is a series of covered arcades which 
intersect one another at right angles, and appear to extend 
over some acres of ground. The stalls or shops are of the 
same general arrangement as that described at Varna; 


160 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


and each peculiar class of merchandise has its own quarter. 
The most striking, and the one most largely patronised 
by strangers, is the bazaar for slippers. You stand at one 
end of it, and, looking down the long vista of brilliant objects 
that fill the stalls, and dangle from the poles in front of 
them, the eye becomes perfectly bewildered and dazzled 
at the sight. Passing along, and turning first to one side 
and then the other, you feel quite angry with the guide 
when he tells you not to listen to this man, for he is dear ; 
and to come away from that one, because he is a cheat; and 
all the while you are longing to make purchases at every 
stall. But the guides naturally have their own friends, and 
unless you can speak Turkish you are completely at their 
mercy. 

Prom the Bazaars we took horses to visit the cistern of the 
thousand columns—an enormous subterranean reservoir, in 
which only 200 of the 1,000 lofty columns supporting its roof 
are now visible. The water has long since disappeared, and it 
is now converted into a manufactory of a rough kind of silk 
thread. Hence we took a very interesting ride outside the walls 
of the city—making the entire circuit of them, in fact; and 
nothing gives one so good an idea of the vast area it covers. 
We started from the point by which the Turks first made their 
victorious entry, and which still remains just as they then 
left it—a small square court or archway, with walls of the 
thickest dimensions, and a battlemented tower at each angle, 
one of which rewarded our ascent with a wide and glorious 
view. In the centre of the court lay a huge stone boss, at least 
eighteen inches in diameter, to give one a notion of the kind 
of projectile they used in those days. The walls along their 
whole extent are in three tiers, rising one behind the other, 
and have been rendered extremely picturesque by that grand 
old artist, Time. 

In returning through the city by the Greek quarter, some 
of the streets we passed through were comparable to nothing 
I ever saw elsewhere in point of dirt and every indication of 
the most abject poverty. There is not a street in Constanti¬ 
nople that can boast of a regularly paved way; but here, 
while one step takes you down through many inches of dust 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 


161 


or mud, as the case may be, into a deep hollow, the next 
brings the legs in contact with a jagged block of stone. It 
may be conceived, therefore, how indispensable a horse be¬ 
comes to any one at all chary of his person; and how the 
rickety toys, in which the Sultanas and Pashas’ wives are 
conveyed to the mosques and fetes , contrive to hold together, 
is one of those things which “ no fellow,” as Lord Dundreary 
says, “can make out.” The wretched little one-storied 
wooden tenements in this quarter are generally painted 
dingy red, and the roofs of opposite houses often manifest a 
painful tendency to meet overhead. The women are usually 
seen sitting three or four together at the open window in 
very loose costume, either working or gazing idly at the 
passers-by; and the yashmac not being worn by the Greeks, 
you are often indulged with the sight of a very pretty face— 
or rather handsome, one would say, speaking of the Greek 
type—yet of a sickly complexion, and with a listless apathetic 
expression, which accords badly with the idea of what Greek 
maidens used to be in times gone by. Such appearances 
do not increase one’s respect for the Moslem sway. In 
short, one is not tempted to linger in a neighbourhood where 
everything bears the most dirty, unwashed, and poverty- 
stricken aspect. 

As we were hurrying away from the place we found our 
course arrested for a few moments by a funeral procession. 
A number of choristers, followed by Greek priests bearing 
candles and banners, marched solemnly in front, the former 
chanting, or rather drawling out through their noses one 
long dismal note, which they only changed occasionally for 
another in a higher key. The cotlin followed next, and was 
carried low by four men, the body of the deceased, clothed 
in a suit of plain mufti , being exposed to view. It was that 
of a spare old man, with silvery hair and shrivelled features, 
and from the ornaments scattered over his breast was doubt¬ 
less some high dignitary. The rabble which followed, 
although numerous and composed chiefly of the humblest 
classes, was orderly and respectful in its bearing. In this 
climate, where decomposition sets in so rapidly, the dead are 
often buried on the same day in which the death occurs, or 

M 


162 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


on the day after at latest—a regulation which this custom 
of exposing the dead body renders of course imperative. 

We now left our horses and crossed in a steamer to Scutari. 
A quarter of an hour brought us to a spacious cemetery on 
the top of the hill. We had already seen one or two in our 
circuit of the walls on the opposite shore; and although in 
the distance they look like delightfully inviting shady little 
cypress groves, and have been invested by Chateaubriand 
and Lamartine with a vast amount of poetry—which, how¬ 
ever applicable it may once have been, is certainly no longer 
so—they cannot now be called sacred retreats ‘ ‘ removed 
from the haunts of busy men,” for much of the traffic of 
the city passes through and about them. Nor is there any 
perceptible indication of the Mussulman’s respect for the 
tombs in the grass and flowers which we are told he culti¬ 
vates with such tender care ; and as to the two little holes in 
the stone which he so sedulously keeps filled with water to 
attract the doves, you may search long enough to find them 
at all, and then they are choked with dust. The very 
cypresses look faded and lifeless; the gravestones lie either 
half sunk in the earth or incline at various angles towards 
it; the whole aspect of the place is the reverse of poetical. 
A little sentiment, however, may be invoked in favour of the 
past, especially when one remembers the desecrating pro¬ 
clivities of our troops who were quartered here during the 
Crimean war. 

July 8th .—At 5 o’clock in the morning I set off in a caique 
for the “ Sweet Waters” of Asia. My two companions had 
seen it before, and lent me their guide for the excursion. 
The caique is a much lighter boat than the gondola , and is 
easily capsized; it is made of polished beech or oak, and prettily 
carved in the better sort. You may either lie or sit on a 
cushion at the bottom of it. I preferred the latter, because 
in the former case the prospect is confined to the blue sky 
above and the black-bordered feet of the boatman, it being 
the custom of the Turkish boatman, on his native element, 
to dispense with shoes and stockings altogether. But it 
would be difficult to find fault with anything at this delicious 
hour, in the first blush of early morning, when all is bright 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 


163 


an d joyous, and the various craft bound for the Black Sea 
have spread then’ canvas to the freshening breeze. 

The Sultan’s New Palace, a new mosque, and several 
country houses and palatial residences of the Pashas, chiefly 
on the European coast, looked very beautiful and fairylike 
as we glided by. An hour and a half brought us to the 
small creek on the Asiatic coast to which the name of 
“ Sweet Waters ” has been given. And it is curious to 
notice how suddenly you pass from one to the other—from 
salt-water to fresh. The boundary line is distinctly visible— 
on one side dark green, on the other a muddy yellow. There 
is evidently great antipathy between them, and yet there is 
a strong flavour of salt in the so-called “sweet” water. 
We ran up the creek for about a quarter of a mile, and the 
spot was pointed out where, on Fridays and Sundays, 
hundreds of Constantinopolitans come out to picnic. On 
one side, a dirty little cottage standing on a patch of hard 
soil, from which the soft carpet of grass that covered it in 
the early spring had long since disappeared, and a few wide- 
spreading plantains ; on the other a dusty copse, flanked by 
an ugly white barrack-house—the opposite banks of the 
stream connected by a stiff wooden bridge. This is the 
grand rendezvous on fetes and holidays. But the space is so 
limited that, irrespective of the distant landscape, which is 
always beautiful, time and use have completely obliterated 
its own intrinsic charms. There is a pottery here, however, 
which remunerates one to some extent for other shortcomings. 
You may see the whole process from beginning to end, and 
buy as many of the red pipe-bowls as you like. From the 
little cottage is produced a very peculiar thin sour cream 
cheese that is highly esteemed here; yet it would seem to 
be the custom, as a precautionary measure no doubt, to sup¬ 
plement the partaking of it by the nargileh and a cup of 
black coffee. I got back to King Missiri’s again about 
11 o’clock. Shortly after, my two companions looked in, 
and we all went together, followed by khamals, or porters, 
with our effects, to secure berths and deposit luggage on 
board the Cydnus of the Massageries Imperiales, which was 
to sail for Athens in the afternoon. There was yet time 


164 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


to have a peep at St. Sophia, for which a firman from the 
Sultan used to be requisite, but it is astonishing what a gra¬ 
tuity will accomplish, even here. In short, a douceur of six 
francs a piece procured us admission to the galleries of this 
huge temple. 

The whole surface of roof and walls is covered, we are in¬ 
formed, with gorgeous mosaics ; but with this assurance you 
must be content, for nothing but one uninterruptted coating 
of yellow wash is now visible—the most popular theory for 
this singular style of embellishment being, that the Turks 
were afraid to excite the cupidity of their enemies by a 
sight of the splendour which is now so effectually concealed. 
As a spectacle, therefore, the great Mohammedan cathedral 
is a miserable delusion, except in point of bulk, in which 
particular it is overwhelming. Reverence for sacred edifices 
seems to be on a par with that for cemeteries. Of the few 
worshippers we saw as we looked down into the circular 
area beneath, one was stretched at full length on the floor 
with his legs crossed—certainly not in an attitude of devo¬ 
tion, unless the dust were his god; another had an infant 
pinned against a column, to whom he was apparently teach¬ 
ing the catechism, which he made him repeat in a loud tone 
of voice; and a few idlers were obstinately dogging our steps 
in the hope of getting something for a few little dirty bits of 
stone, which they wished us to believe were fragments of the 
covered mosaics. 

In coming from the mosque to go on board, we heard the 
cry of “ fire,” and on looking up saw a tremendous blaze close 
to the watch-tower of Galata, not far from Missiri’s hotel. 
Our guide instantly began a remunerative little story on his 
own account. With tears in his eyes he declared that his 
sister and brother-in-law had just come to settle in the verv 
next house, and would be utterly ruined; then begged us to 
let him go to the rescue; and, in short, worked upon our 
feelings so effectually as to obtain his dismissal and a hand¬ 
some bonus into the bargain. It was a grand sight as we 
witnessed it from the deck of the vessel in the Golden 
Horn. Two hours elapsed before the engines could be got 
to play with any perceptible effect, and during that time 


ATHENS. 


165 


thirty of these wretched wooden tenements had been burnt 
to the ground ; the poor occupants, with the few movables 
they had been able to save, sitting the while on the tombs 
of a neighbouring cemetery, watching with rueful face the 
destruction of their little all. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

ATHENS. 

The voyage to Athens occupied two days; and although the 
weather was squally, and the scenery not remarkable either 
for beauty or variety, it was anything but dull in a vessel 
like the Cydnus, with such joyous company as we had on 
board—such musical officers, such good fare, such a superbly- 
decorated saloon, and such spacious cabins. We passed 
close to the site of ancient Troy , and saw the three hillocks 
said to be respectively the tombs of Patroclus, Ajax, and 
Achilles. Opposite to this was the Isle of Tenedos , behind 
which the wily Greeks concealed their fleet during the intro¬ 
duction of the wooden horse into the city. As we passed 
down the Archipelago numberless small islands came and 
went, mostly of a barren and desolate aspect, until at last we 
reached the interminable Negropont , which we did not quit 
until we turned into the harbour of the Piraeus at 5 o’clock 
in the morning of 

July \()th. —As we rode up from the harbour into the city, 
the Professor could not help confessing to repeated battements 
de cceur on finding himself, for the first time, on the classic 
soil of Attica —the land which, of all others, he said, had 
been since childhood the theme of his happiest dreams. In 
Byron’s words— 

“ Where’er we tread ’tis haunted, holy ground ; 

No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, 

But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, 

And all the Muse’s tales seem truly told, 

Till the sense aches with gazing to behold 
The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon.” 



166 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


All this much to the amusement of the Marquis, whose 
perfect indifference to things of a classic nature was about 

equal to the enthusiasm of Mons. B-. We crossed the 

Ilissus and the Sysiphus, now mere ditches, and all but dry. 
Some rising ground intervened between us and the Acropolis 
until we were close upon the town; and then so suddenly 
did that majestic pile of ruined temples rise up before 
us, that we were quite startled by the apparition, as it 
almost seemed. But we had a closer view of it by-and-by; 
and the modern city just now claims all our attention. 
Truly there is not much to commend in the architecture of 
this fifth Athens, for the Professor assures us the place has 
been destroyed and rebuilt no less than five times. But if 
one may be allowed to pass over the architecture and alight 
upon national costume, I would say that nothing so much 
astonished, and, I believe, delighted us, as the dress of the 
male portion of the inhabitants. We were prepared to find 
it peculiar, and had some notion of its character from pic¬ 
tures ; but it is one thing to see a solitary native in a painting, 
thrown in by way of relief to some mournful ruin, and quite 
another to see a whole city full of them. It is a little effemi¬ 
nate, to our notions, but extremely picturesque. There is 
a white bodice, sometimes embroidered in front, to which 
is attached a multiplicity of white petticoats lying one 
over the other, and reaching not quite to the knees, with an 
infinity of small plaits running lengthways. Over the bodice 
is a loose, embroidered jacket, either blue or white; but the 
petticoats rejoice in “ unfettered freedom,” exposing in their 
vagaries a loose pair of white breeches tied below the knee ; 
white stockings cover the remainder, and the headdress is 
either the red fez or a Leghorn straw. 

The heat here was more oppressive even than at Constan¬ 
tinople, where the measure of it was rarely below 120° Fah¬ 
renheit. It was positively a relief to feel that we had engaged 
berths in an Austrian Lloyd steamer sailing for Trieste on 
the following evening. We walked first in the direction of 
the Boyal Palace, a wretched barrack-like building, which, 
we thought, it would only be a waste of time to examine. 
A visit to the French College, close by, looked more pro- 



ATHENS. 


167 


misiug. There were very few students in it then ; but M. 

13-, as Professor, met with a warm reception from one of 

them. After showing us over the library and other apart¬ 
ments, he led the way into his own private room, which was 
very large, and not over-stocked with furniture. Then 
cotfee and tobacco were served in the Turkish style, brought 
in by a Greek servant in the costume previously described, 
only with more silver embroidery than usual about the blue 
jacket. P. and the student made cigarettes, while the Pro¬ 
fessor and I puffed earnestly away at seven feet of straight 
elder tubing, terminating in a small red bowl. There was 
much to be gleaned from our host about modern Athenian 
life; many interesting particulars also of college life and 
discipline, from which it appears that the students are there 
for three years, and spend half that time most agreeably in 
exploring the country. 

A short stroll took us back again from the College through 
the town to the Temple of Theseus, the most perfect in the 
neighbourhood of Athens. The long rectangular hall, which 
forms the body of it, is now used as a museum of antiquities, 
and is surrounded on all four sides by a row of majestic 
Doric columns. Ten or a dozen rude marble scats, with 
arms to them, taken, we were told, from the Court of the 
Areopagus, stand marshalled in one long row outside. 
There is nothing particularly attractive in them; but they 
derive an interest from the probability of St. Paul having 
rested in one or other of them after preaching to the ‘ ‘ men 
of Athens ! ’ 5 Close by is Mars Hill, now only a low barren 
rock, yet we were able to mount to the top of it by the old 
red marble steps that served for Paul and Barnabas, and 
most of the celebrities of Grecian history. 

After dinner, in the cool of the evening, we took horses for 
a wider round. First to the Academy of Plato, a mile or so 
outside the town, just sufficiently removed to “ hear the stir 
of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd.” What an abyss 
of time, and what a revolution in externals, between the 
present and that past, when inter silvas Academia qucerere 
rerum became the habit of the youthhood of Athens ! Poor 
Plato! “Let no ungeometric mind be present here,” was 



168 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


liis well-known academic inscription. What would the 
divine philosopher say could he see the confusion which now 
reigns ? A fragment of the ancient wall, with curious 
morsels of carving on it, still marks the spot; and where for¬ 
merly stood the “delightful groves,” now may be seen a few 
straggling ill-tended vines and fig-trees. Our Professor, as 
was his wont on similar occasions, took up a suitable position 
and attitude, and commenced a discourse in imitation of the 
great man. Alas, that periods so eloquent should fall on 
such listless ears ! And yet how could it be otherwise in a 
spot from which almost every trace of its classic origin has 
been obliterated ? So let us to horse, Monsieur, and to the 
Acropolis ere the sun sets ! And w'hat horses they were ! 
The guide’s was in all respects the best—mine came next, a 
wicked little Arab grey, with the prettiest head and neck 
you ever saw, and the most delightful habit of shying and 
running away, as I shall have occasion presently to relate. 
P. had mounted an old trooper twenty-five years of age, 
respecting the paces of which we had many a joke—a “ cheval 
de Marquis tout-a-fait ,” the Professor said, and recommended 
the purchase as an ornament to his lordship’s stud. But 
then the Professor’s own turn came, and his “ mount” was 
certainly the most ludicrous of all—a sober little cob of ex¬ 
tremely amiable disposition (as he was perpetually endea¬ 
vouring to assure both himself and us), but painfully addicted 
to galloping, a habit much at variance with his rider’s 
notions of good discipline and sobriety. So whenever we 
looked back as we cantered up the slope leading to the 
Acropolis , we could hear the little gentleman expostulating, 
iC Allons done ! mon petit , pas si vite — doucement , doucement ,”— 
at the same time exerting strenuous efforts to restrain him. 
his cheeks swollen and streaming with perspiration, and his 
trousers half-way up to his knees. We rested for a few 
minutes to give our worthy Mentor time to recover from his 
shaking and sweep the moisture from his brow, and then 
passed up through the Propyleum, or Entrance Gate, to the 
three temples of the Acropolis —viz., the small Temple of 
Victory, the gigantic Parthenon , and the Erectheum. A 
faithful copy of the latter, by the way, only on a much larger 


ATHENS. 


169 


scale, exists in the church of St. Pancras, Euston Square. 
We remained so long on the steps of the Propyleum, gazing- 
back on the magnificent panorama of sea and mountain 
behind us, as almost to forget that one of our chief objects in 
coming at this hour was to obtain a view of the setting sun. 
Twilight seemed already to have set in at the spot where we 
were standing, and it was only by scrambling hastily over a 
huge chaotic heap of fragmentary marble, until I reached 
one vast block elevated considerably above the rest, that I 
was enabled to catch a faint glimpse of the last expiring 
rays, and of the soft roseate hue flushing the crests of the 
neighbouring hills. The short twilight that succeeded ren¬ 
dered more imposing, while it lasted, the splendid monu¬ 
ments around. How shamefully they have been mutilated ! 
Before the war of independence in ’23, they were almost 
perfect. Of the Parthenon , some score or so of columns 
alone remain standing to attest to its former grand and ele¬ 
gant proportions. The Erectheum appears to have suffered the 
least—no thanks to Lord Elgin, who robbed it of one or two 
of the Caryatides , now replaced by plaster imitations. The 
space between the Propyleum and the Parthenon is choked up 
with broken columns, capitals, friezes, and vast blocks of 
white marble, beneath which cannon balls and exploded shells, 
the instruments of their destruction, peep out in all direc¬ 
tions ; while on one side of the Great Temple is a cave that 
tells a worse tale still: it contains the parched bones and 
skulls of the noble Greeks who perished in its defence. The 
entire group of buildings is of the purest white marble, and 
is to me more imposing and productive of a lasting impres¬ 
sion in their present forlorn condition than if they had 
remained whole. There is such an unutterably solemn and 
lonely grandeur about them. You can almost hear them 
speaking to you in dignified tones of the times gone by. 

“ Children of a day,” they seem to say, “ gaze not lightly on 
the monuments of ages;—generation upon generation has 
come and gone, and we still remain. But for you we might yet 
have been perfect as the day we were created—as in the days 
when the nobles of the earth, orators, statesmen, warriors, 
and philosophers, honoured us with their daily visits, and we 


170 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


ranked with the highest among the glories of the world. 
Time has even been more friendly to ns than you. Our 
complexions are still white and fresh as ever; and the 
wrinkles and furrows which now disfigure us—shame be it 
said—are not the marks of age, but of your own violence ! 

It is difficult to feel no sympathy for the dignity of such noble 
relics. 

We lingered about the spot in a dreamy, spell-bound way 
till twilight had departed and the town beneath was lit up 
for the night, when we reluctantly took horse again and 
skirted the foot of the hill on the opposite side to that by 
which we had ascended, passing by the ruined Temple of 
Jupiter on the plain, and re-entering the city by the pretty 
little cupola called the “ Lantern of Demosthenes.” Close 
to this is the house Lord Byron inhabited, now only a ruinous 
cottage. The “ Maid of Athens,” they say, still lives, with 
a very pretty daughter, at the Piraeus, but we failed to 
discover her whereabouts. 

In passing down one of the principal streets on our way 
back to the hotel, my frisky little Arab took fright at some¬ 
thing, and became unmanageable. He bounded from one 
side to the other, tore away at full gallop down the street, 
pirouetted in a most incomprehensible manner on his two 
hindlegs, and finally just stopped short of backing into a 
shop window. Spectators of course were not wanting, but 
I kept my seat and saved the credit of my country. 

July 1 1th .—By early dawn we were out of bed, and a 
quarter past 4 o’clock saw us en route for Pentelicos, each 
mounted on an aged beast, of a sure but doleful pace. Little 
of interest presented itself by the way. The soil was barren 
in the extreme, though a few old scarecrow olives seemed to 
take pretty kindly to it; but then where would not they grow 
beneath a hot sun ! In the immediate neighbourhood of one 
or two villages there had been manifest efforts on behalf of 
the vine and corn, but with feeble result; elsewhere nothing 
but naked plains and a parched-up soil. 

Pentelicos is the mountain whose quarries supplied the 
snow-white marble for the Athenian temples. The obscure 
track which leads to the summit is steep and rugged to a 


ATHENS. 


171 


degree of which neither man nor Least can approve. It 
appears to have been the old roadway to and from the quarries, 
and in places is choked up with little jagged bits of marble 
that have fallen from the carts, or rolled down the rocks 
from the vast cuttings whose salient angles are now glisten¬ 
ing in the sunshine above us. About half-way up we dis¬ 
mount to see what the guide courteously calls a “ grotto,” 
—viz., a natural hole in the rock, some 200 or 300 feet in 
length, terminating in a spring of deliciously pure and cold 
fresh water, but so low and narrow, and in places of such 
rapid descent, not to mention the absence of the crystallic 
beauty one is wont to associate with grottos, that we were 
not sorry to give up our candles and stand upright in the 
open air again. Higher up, a mile or so, we deviated once 
more from the direct path to visit what the guide fairly 
termed “the eagles’ salle-d-manger ”•—a grassy hollow on 
the top of a projecting knoll. Among the varied osseous 
debris which lie scattered over the bottom of it, the shell of 
the tortoise was by far the most abundant; and sometimes, 
the guide informed us, when no predatory strangers had been 
by that way for a month or so, you might pick up large 
quantities of these shells. The tortoise never grows to any 
size, for the eagle, it seems, prefers the young flesh. We 
found several about the size of the hand crawling beneath 
the bushes, and some even much smaller still, one of which, 
not more than two inches in length, I carried about wdth me 
as a travelling companion for the rest of my tour. It was 
half-past 8 before we gained the summit—about twelve 
miles from Athens. From a cairn of stones piled up on the 
highest point we listened, as long as patience could endure 
it, to the wearisome monotone of our Greek guide in eulogy 
of the surrounding country. But when he came to the 
plains of Marathon , which lay stretched out like a map 
almost at our feet, our excited little Professor could endure 
it no longer. Bidding the guide come down, and climbing 
in his place to the top of the cairn, he burst out into a glow r - 
ing account of the remaxkable battle which those plains 
recall; and, to the astonishment of the guide no less than of 
ourselves, although he had never been near the spot before, 


172 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


identified the various inequalities of the ground and the 
purposes they had served with all the assurance of a man 
who had taken part in the fight. It made our school-boy 
recollections of Grecian history seem rather contemptible. 
There was little to choose as a matter of toil between the 
descent and ascent of the mountain. In our case the former 
was decidedly the least agreeable; for not only did our 
stupid guide lose his way in attempting to take us a short 
cut, which obliged us frequently to dismount and drag our 
animals after us over the slippery bits of marble that lay 
concealed beneath the underwood, but in a short time we 
became parched with thirst to such a lamentable degree as 
almost to deprive us of the power of speech. It was a broil¬ 
ing hot day in one of the hottest summers that had been 
known for many years; we had been up since sunrise, and 
had brought nothing with us, on the man's assurance that 
about 8 or 9 o’clock we should come to a village where a 
good breakfast could be had. After the first mile or so of 
descent we found it impossible to keep one another in sight 
long together on account of the tall shrubs with which 
the side of the hill was thickly clothed, so that some time 
was lost in re-assembling at the foot of it; then, after pro¬ 
ceeding for some distance on level ground, it seemed almost 
cruel to be informed by a peasant that our village was still 
five miles or more distant. We did at length arrive there, 
but it was nearly midday; we halted beneath a wide-spread¬ 
ing plantain with a trunk of enormous girth—our inn on 
the right hand, and on the left, blissful sight! the village 
fountain. We were about to rush and slake our thirst at it, 
when the landlord came out, and seeing at a glance what was 
the matter, begged us to wait half a moment and he would 
bring us something less dangerous than cold water. In a 
few seconds he returned with some cherry-water in large 
tumblers, a most delicious beverage, and, fortunately for us, 
very abundant in that particular locality. I will warrant 
that neither “mine host” nor the little troop of admiring 
bystanders ever saw it absorbed with such fierce avidity 
before. Our landlord was full of attention and civilities, 
having been installed only three days in his present quarters. 


ATHENS. 


173 


Kyphissoe, or something which sounded very much like it, 
was the name of the village—the “Richmond” of Athens , 
and -where King Otho usually spent the summer months. 
The large plane tree referred to swarmed with a pretty 
insect of the locust race—a thick greenish body about one 
and a half inch long, w r ith broad white gossamer wings. 
They buzz about the tree by thousands, and make a sharp 
hissing noise that is vastly irritating and all but deafening 
to people who hear it for the first time. They are the delight 
of small boys, however, who fasten forty or fifty of them to 
a thread to make a sort of musical tail for their kites. 
While speaking of plane trees, which attain to a great size 
in the East, I remember measuring one in an outer court of 
the seraglio at Constantinople whose trunk was thirteen 
yards in circumference. A hot dusty ride of twelve miles 
brought us back to Athens again between 4 and 5 o’clock, 
allowing barely time to put our wardrobe together, pay our 
reckoning, and drive off to the Piraeus , in order to catch a 
small packet which conveyed us to the island of Syra 
during the night, where the Austrian Lloyd’s steamer 
Vulcan was to call for passengers to Corfu and Trieste the 
next day. 

Wretched enough is the fate of the tourist who happens 
to be cast on this barren little island at 5 o’clock in the 
morning, after a sleepless night, with the thermometer 
rapidly rising to 120° Fahrenheit, the only hotel in the 
place quite full, and the certainty of seven or eight hours’. 
captivity staring him in the face. Many of our fellow- 
passengers wandered up and down the tiny streets where 
little or no sun could penetrate ; others stretched themselves 
on the bare rock, in order, as it seemed, to enjoy the novel 
sensation of baking without the close confinement of the 
oven. P. and I preferred to sport for an hour or so, in 
naturalibus , with the fishes in the harbour, and then re¬ 
tired to pass away the remainder of our captivity in a small 
cafe, where the Professor had already been asleep for some 
time. 

The voyage to Trieste occupied about four days, including 
a stay of some hours at Corfu —a place quite as tropical in 


171 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


appearance as Gibraltar, and resembling that town also ; 
among other particulars, in th£' strikingly picturesque 
variety of the costumes of the inhabitants, the abundance 
of rich fruits exposed everywhere for sale, and the odd 
mixture of English and Greek names and advertisements 
over the shop doors. It is likewise curious to enter a cafe 
and find there a variety of journals all in the old Greek 
type. Two or three familiar English names which I picked 
out of one of them are scarcely recognisable in this quaint 
garb ; for instance :—'0 7rpea/3va rrjcr AyyXiaa Hirpanpopd Se 
PeSicXr/fp. '0 Aopbocr HaXpepara)!'. f 0 Aopdocr K ofiXeq. 

At Trieste I parted very reluctantly from my two French 
friends, who were going to visit Adelsberg, which I had 
already seen, while my own arrangements obliged me to 
push on to Milan. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

MILAN, PAVIA, AND THE ITALIAN LAKES. 

Six hours by steam-tug to Venice; a pause there of ten 
hours or so to look up some of the favourite haunts; and 
then a long, dreary thirteen hours of rail and diligence 
through the plains of Lombardy brings us to Milan at 6 in 
the morning of July 18. In us, I include a couple of very 
agreeable Scotchmen, whose acquaintance I had made on 
the way, and with whom I spent the next two or three days 
very pleasantly. 

Most large Italian towns have some appropriate decorative 
or eulogistic epithet attached to them, and why not Milan ? 
We have Firenze la bella , Genoa la superba, Verona la digna, 
Mantua laforta, Pavia la dotta, &c., but I never heard of a 
title for Milan. Surely, if only for the sake of her cathe¬ 
dral, she merits the distinction. It might be for instance 
la divina, or something expressive of the dignity and sur¬ 
passing beauty which characterise her chief adornment. 



MILAN, PA VIA, AND THE ITALIAN LAKES. lTo 

Somebody complains that the • general appearance of this 
wonderful structure is heavy ; to me it is everything that is 
light, and lovely, and awe-inspiring—an edifice, in short, 
which might have dropped down from the sky into the 
heart of the city, and have made the human habitations 
among which it fell retire to a reverential distance, out of 
respect for its chaste and ethereal proportions. The same 
author laments, too, that it is so sadly overcharged with 
statues. True, it does possess effigies of all the saints in the 
calendar, and a vast number of others besides, 6,000 or more 
at present throughout the whole building, to be augmented 
in time to 10,000; but in a structure of this magnitude, such 
a Liliputian population of sculptures is almost lost; and as 
to those that have their existence in silence up there on the 
roof, they serve but to point the pinnacles in a manner at the 
same time both graceful and edifying. There is one feature 
in the interior that certainly does give one a sensation of 
heaviness, viz. the capitals of the columns, which occupy a 
.fifth part of the length of the entire shaft, and project 
between two and three feet from its sides; en revanche , they 
are very rich and unique in their way, and from the loftiness 
and immensity of the building, not so heavy perhaps as they 
would otherwise appear. But what can be finer than the 
delicate tracery of the roof P Yet it is a rude shock to the 
feelings, after one has been gazing upward for some time in 
admiration, to be quietly informed that what we have all 
along taken for beautiful carving in the same pure white 
marble of which the rest of the edifice is constructed, is' 
nothing more than a clever imitation of it in paper. The 
stained glass, of which all the windows are composed, is very 
rich and brilliant, especially the older portions of it. One 
pleasing feature of the altars is, that the Yirgin is nowhere 
made too conspicuous above our Saviour, and over the rood- 
screen is a Christ on the Cross, with these words beneath: 
Attendite ad petram unde excisi estis ! In one corner, sus¬ 
pended near the ceiling, is a huge object covered up in brown 
holland, which from its shape one might take to be a large 
copper caldron ; in it, so the vergers relate, either once a 
year, or every three years, I forget which, the Archbishop, 


176 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


accompanied by five laymen from the nobility, is hoisted up 
to the Cross, extracts one of the nails, and transfers it to a 
metal box over the altar ; here, for some salutary purpose it 
is allowed to remain three days, after which it is restored to 
its proper place with the same ceremony that accompanied 
its removal. But the great sight here is the tomb of San 
Carlo Borromeo, in a vault underneath, a gorgeous display 
of gold, and silver, and precious stones—so they say who 
have seen it. I am not able personally to confirm this, 
having, unfortunately, no spare five-franc pieces at my dis¬ 
posal for the mere gratification of gazing upon the outside 
of a glittering sepulchre. An additional fee for the cus¬ 
tomary sacristy relics I similarly avoided. If it be true, as 
the Church of Borne would have us believe, that the faithful 
derive spiritual benefits from such exhibitions, let them at 
least be open to the poor as well as to the rich; the pay¬ 
ment of a fee cannot enhance their efficacy, and we have 
certainly good authority for discountenancing the purchase 
of spiritual gifts, from which this custom does not seem far 
removed. 

To come back to the construction of the cathedral; archi¬ 
tects complain much of the indiscriminate mixture of a 
variety of styles; but this is a common failing in Conti¬ 
nental churches, and is accounted for by the fact that these 
large and costly edifices often outgrew, during the period of 
their erection, the style in which they were commenced ; and 
the architects of each new age appear to have been frequently 
allowed to continue the work according to their own caprice, 
or the prevailing style of the period. The facade of the 
Duomo of Milan is rather a singular instance of this. The 
body of the building had been long in existence before the 
design for the facade could be decided on, and when at 
length one of a classic character had been chosen and half 
built, it was rejected for the present Gothic structure as 
being more in accordance with the rest of the edifice ; but 
the three Roman windows which formed a part of it were, 
on account of their peculiar beauty, permitted to remain, 
and an inscription put up to that effect. 

In view of this bugbear of conflicting styles one is tempted 


MILAN, PAYIA, AND THE ITALIAN LAKES. 177 

to self-congratulation on not being a born architect; such 
are left free to gaze, and wonder, and enjoy, in blissful 
ignorance of the sufferings of poor injured Art. 

In the middle of the day, when the sun was scorching the 
streets, I used generally to betake myself for an hour or so, 
book in hand, to the deliciously cool aisles of the cathedral. 
The motive was not strictly commendable perhaps, but it 
must be a callous heart that could remain long in such a 
place without having thoughts more devotional kindled than 
those which entered with it, taking silent and impercep¬ 
tible possession of the mind, and possibly binding it to the 
spot as by an invisible chain from which it breaks away only 
with great reluctance. 

The churches most deserving of notice are those of Sant' 
Ambroyio, San Vittore al Corpo , and San Lorenzo: the first 
as being the most ancient, coeval with the reign of Charle¬ 
magne, and containing in the vestibule some very remarkable 
old grave-stones and bas-reliefs attached to the w r alls; the 
second historically famous for the repulse of the Emperor 
Theodosius bv St. Ambrose : the third from the tradition 
that it was formerly a large bath-house, many of the so- 
called bath-rooms now serving as chapels; by some, how¬ 
ever, it is thought to have been the Temple of Hercules. 
In the middle of the street, at no great distance from the 
church, are sixteen lofty Corinthian columns, wilich may 
have formed the entrance. They are the most considerable 
Eoman remains in the town, and, standing as they do quite 
alone in the midst of a bustling thoroughfare, have a very 
singular appearance. 

In the convent of S. Maria dette Grazie may still be seen 
what remains of Leonardo da Vinci’s world-famed Ccenacolo, 
or “ The Last Supper.” The beautiful outline of the 
Saviour’s head and features is still barely discernible, and 
so are those of most of the apostles, but the w T hole is fast 
decaying at a rate that will leave nothing for the next 
generation to admire. But Titian is just now' my “ Prince of 
Painters such a fearless touch, and yet no lack of finish— 
such life, such muscle, such downright earnestness in his 
figures, and such a body of colour, too, as makes them 

N 


178 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


stand out like veritable flesh and blood upon tbe canvas. In 
tbe public gallery here, called the Brera, where I spent 
three profitable hours one morning, is a fine painting by him, 
representing “ St. Jerome at Prayer in the Desert,” a stock 
subject in Continental galleries. The brawny saint has one 
knee resting on a rude block of stone, and is gazing ardently 
on the crucifix before him ; his right hand grasps a stone, 
with which, in an excess of humility, he is about to strike 
his breast; a lion crouching beneath a rock, a lizard crawling 
over a stone close by, the sacred books, an hour-glass, a 
skull, and the landscape filling up the background, all show 
a loving and truthful regard to the minor accessories of a 
picture; but the subject is one which enchains the attention 
without winning sympathy. Paul Veronese is well repre¬ 
sented here as far as numbers go. “ Poor old Paul,” as 
somebody says of him, “ I like old Paul; he is always so 
honestly intent on jewels, and embroidery, and gold and 
silver trappings.” He was also not altogether ignorant of 
the art of drawing human figures, and of grouping them 
together after a grand and picturesque fashion of his own; 
but Venice, of course, is the place for seeing him in his 
glory. Raphael’s well-known picture of the “Marriage of 
Joseph and Mary ” is one of the gems of this gallery, and is 
doubtless a very fine work when you have once reconciled 
yourself to the Perugino-like stiffness of arrangement and 
hardness of outline which pervade it. “Abraham dismiss¬ 
ing Hag-ar ” is a forcible picture by Guercino, much admired 
by Lord Byron. But “St. Peter and St. Paul,” by Guido 
Beni, is to me the gem of the collection. It appears to have 
reference to that passage in the New Testament where 
St. Paul speaks of “ withstanding Peter to the face ” for some 
dereliction of duty. St. Peter sits on a bench against a 
stone building, the keys have dropped from his hand, and, 
with an expression of perplexity on his face and in his 
manner, he looks towards St. Paul, who, in the most affec¬ 
tionate and brotherly way, with a Bible under his arm and 
his hand uplifted, is earnestly expostulating with him. The 
left hand of St. Peter is a very remarkable example of fore¬ 
shortening. There is a fine but savage-looking picture by 


MILAN, PAVIA, AND THE ITALIAN LAKES. 1/9 

Salvator Rosa, called “St. Paul, the first Hermit.” There 
is the wilderness, of course, for the saint to vegetate in, and 
an assortment of -withered and blasted trunks of trees such 
as only that superb “thunder and lightning” artist could 
depict. Bernardino Luini appears to have been a great 
favourite in the Milanese school, and his works and those of 
his pupils crowd the walls ad nauseam. I have no distinct 
recollection of any of them, but a confused sense of defective 
drawing and hard outline, coupled, however, with much 
force of expression in the figures. 

The monster theatre, La Scala , was closed for repairs, but 
the small fee of half a zwanziger procured me easy entrance. 
The boxes are arranged in the horseshoe form, forty or 
more in a tier, and each one with a small room attached ; 
the entire building accommodates, it is said, about 4,000. 
The depth of the stage is 150 feet, nearly twice that of the 
area of the theatre itself, and the labyrinth of ropes, drop- 
scenes, slips, and other stage machinery, made me feel 
giddy to look at. 

The Arena is worth a visit, not on account of its 
antiquity, for it was only commenced in 1805, and is 
but a feeble imitation of the massive and gigantic amphi¬ 
theatres of the old Romans; but it is, I believe, unique of 
its kind, and can seat no fewer than 30,000 spectators. The 
entrance hall is embellished with a fresco copy of Thorwald- 
sen’s famous series of reliefs at the Villa Sommariva, Lago 
di Como ; and so admirably is the chiaroscuro managed, that 
at a distance, as in the case of the Duomo ceiling, one readily 
mistakes it for bas-relief. The Arena is of the usual elliptic 
form. The seats for the middle and lower classes are simply 
of the bare turf, those for the grandees are of granite, but 
when a representation of any importance takes place, the 
whole is covered with boards and cloth. Between the area 
and the seats is an ingeniously contrived channel by which 
water from the Ticino is admitted when an aquatic spectacle 
is contemplated. Close by is a magnificent triumphal arch, 
of modern execution, in white marble, called the Arco della 
Face ; on the top is a bronze figure of Peace, in a car drawn by 
six horses, and a figure of Fame at each angle to announce her 


180 


CONTINENTAL "WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


arrival. It forms the entrance to the city from the Simplon 
Road. 

The public promenade is recommendable rather for its ex¬ 
tent than for its beauty; but from 7 o’clock till 9 of a summer 
evening it is as crowded as the drive in Hyde Park, 
and with equipages not far inferior; some capital military 
bands, too, play at the same time beneath the trees. Nor is 
it an utterly unremunerative way of spending an hour or so 
to sit at one of the open caffes in the Corso when the heat 
of the day has passed, and, enjoying an ice or sipping 
a cup of caffe nero , or an orangeade, to look out upon the 
endless stream of promenaders, with whom, at this hour of 
the day, the Corso, or chief thoroughfare, is always enli¬ 
vened. The Milanese are as fond of dress and external show . 
as the Parisians; and, as everybody is aware, it was from 
them that, in their more palmy days, we got our word 
“milliner.” Pans are here de rigueur —at all times, in all 
places, and for all classes. The same remark will also apply 
to walking-sticks for gentlemen. 

The theatrical world is all enprovince just now; but I saw 
a curious mixed entertainment at the Teatro Carcano. There 
were snatches of operas, with singing and acting, pleasingly 
varied by musical solos, both vocal and instrumental. The 
stars of the evening were the Sorelle Ferni, of whom it was 
difficult to say whether their lustrous black eyes or the 
jewelled ornaments on the forehead above were the most 
dazzling ; instrumentally, their performances on the violin, 
both singly and in concert, were truly wonderful. When 
playing in unison, so sharp, and clear, and precise was the 
touch, that it seemed impossible to determine whether you 
were listening to one or more instruments. The Italians 
rarely demand an encore, but they waste much time in calling 
the favourites before the curtain. The two lovely sisters 
were thus brought forward three times after each piece. 

The Milanese are the most musical people in Italy, and a 
nuisance almost equal to that of our street organs is the 
strange result of this. The theatres are numerous, and 
most of them affect operas: to supply these there must be a 
proportionate number of artistes ; these must practise—but 


MILAN, PAVIA, AND THE ITALIAN LAKES. 1S1 

it is a long distance to the fields, and too hot to practise 
with closed windows; ergo , everybody who happens to live 
in their neighbourhood, i.e. all over the town, is more or 
less favoured. Imagine being compelled to listen for a 
couple of hours together to a female with a powerful pair of 
lungs, who, at full pitch, runs up and down the same octave 
fifty times, shakes for a quarter of an hour on one note, 
and fills up the remainder of the time by going over and 
over again half a dozen bars of an operatic passage. If one 
could only get a law passed obliging them all to live together 
in one street, it would be diverting now and then to go and 
hear the medley. 

July 21 st .—Started on an excursion into the Lake District, 
proposing to return to Milan in a week or so for letters and 
supplies. Bail at 6 A.m. to Como, which is reached in an 
hour. Breakfast, and go on board the lake steamer, which 
takes you as far as Cadennabbia, the prettiest part of the 
lake, about half way up. One is surprised at first to find 
it so narrow and confined; but this is partly an illusion, 
favoured by the loftiness of the encircling hills, and partly 
owing, perhaps, to the impression that the whole lake is 
before you; whereas what you see from Como is but a small 
armlet that comes winding down from the great expanse of 
water several miles above. This serpentine character adds 
greatly to the beauty of the lower portion of the lake. You 
imagine more than once that you see to the end, and that 
no possible exit can exist, when a sudden turn at a point 
where you least looked for it opens up again another lovely 
vista. In parts the hills rise almost perpendicularly from 
the water’s edge, in others they slope away gradually up¬ 
wards; here rich with vegetation, and dotted over with 
small white cottages and pretty villas; there rugged and 
lifeless. But the day was warm and sumiy ; the few barren 
spots that met the eye were overpowered by the bright 
verdure and golden luxuriance of the rest; the air was soft 
and balmy, and everything looked serenely fair and happy. 
From Cadennabbia I crossed at once in a small boat to Bel - 
lagio , a pretty village standing on a point where the two 
arms of the lake join, and from the gardens of the Villa 


182 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Serbelloni had a lovely view. Returning to Cadennahbia, I 
lunched at the Hotel de la Belle Vue, by the water’s side, and 
devoted the afternoon to the Villa Carlotta, formerly Som- 
mariva. It possesses Thorwaldsen’s celebrated bas-relief, 
the “Triumph of Alexander,” so cleverly copied in fresco 
on the entrance to the Arena at Milan. There is also, among 
other works by the same artist, Canova’s beautiful “ Psyche 
and Cupid.” The picture gallery is insignificant. I found 
that I had still an hour or more to spare before the return 
of the Como steamer, and this I spent in roaming at will 
about the beautiful gardens of the villa, for which permis¬ 
sion was readily granted. There is more of nature and 
less of art in them than is usual in Italian gardens, and my 
delight was enhanced in proportion. Narrow, sinuous paths 
thread up beneath umbrageous, and often sweetly scented, 
foliage to the summit of the hill behind the villa, and there 
again, from a rustic seat, I feasted on the lovely panorama. 
I spent that night at Como. The cathedral is a large hand¬ 
some structure, and reminded me of the Radcliffe Library at 
Oxford. 

July 22nd. —6.30 A.M., by diligence to Laveno and Lago 
Maggiore, passing through Varese, the Richmond of Milan. 
Reach Laveno at 1 p.m. and push off in a small boat to Isola 
Bella, the aspect of which is so pleasing that I propose to 
halt here for a day or two. The island is very small, but 
the space has been rarely economised. Besides a good-sized 
hotel and a few fishermen’s cots, there is the palace and 
garden of Count Borromeo, descendant of the great Saint 
Charles. I joined a party of three Englishmen to visit 
the house, which is of great extent. The rooms are large 
and lofty, but spoilt by an overwhelming profusion of blue 
and yellow in the decorations. On the basement floor, be¬ 
neath that by which we entered, is a curious suite of apart¬ 
ments, whose walls are composed of small black and white 
stones, fantastically arranged in various designs. Here we 
were shown the room in which Napoleon dined the day be¬ 
fore the battle of Marengo; as also, up-stairs, the bed in 
which he slept, and in the gardens an ancient laurel, in the 
bark of which we were requested to believe that he had 


MILAN, PAYIA, AND THE ITALIAN LAKES. 183 

carved the word “ battaglia ,” although no trace of it was 
now visible. The gardens I thought as unattractive as those 
I saw yesterday oil Lake Como were beautiful. Statues, 
terraces, and other conventional devices, were piled up and 
crowded together on a little rounded surface of about half 
an acre, more or less. From the lake the appearance of the 
island is very striking : somebody says that “ at a distance it 
suggests the idea of a huge perigord pie, stuck round with 
the heads of woodcocks and partridges; ” another, more 
severe, pronounces it “worthy only of a rich man’s mis¬ 
placed extravagance, and of the taste of a confectioner.” 

The view of the lake from one of the windows of the palace 
is less equivocal. See it when the sun has just set, and the 
distant hills are veiled in that rich purple bloom which only 
a southern climate can produce; when the surface of the 
water has not a ripple, and perfect repose is only broken by 
a few solitary fishing-boats gliding softly to their nightly 
stations; when the small white hamlets are just visible like 
flocks of gulls along the shore, and little villas lie scattered 
at irregular intervals up the slopes of the green hills, while 
the flushed crests of the snowy Alps tower up into the sky 
behind. Under such aspects it would be difficult to find 
anything of a like nature to surpass it. Fishing is a con¬ 
siderable source of industry on this lake; trout, perch, pike, 
and smaller kinds being very abundant. The method of 
fishing is chiefly with nets of various kinds; but on the first 
evening of my stay I went out to try some spinning tackle 
in deep water. I had a long line like those used in sea-fish¬ 
ing, twisted round a wooden frame, and baited with a small 
roach bristling with hooks ; I let the line drag from the 
stern of the boat, the boatman pulling at a gentle pace, but 
the trout, as he said, at this season of the year lay in pro- 
fundo, and, indeed, for this night they remained there. I 
read in the Times letter from Home this morning (March 2, 
1865), that at a supper at one of the great carnival balls one 
item in the bill of fare was “ trout from the Lago Maggiore, 
30 lbs. apiece.” The next evening one of the waiters at the 
hotel, compassionating my ill-luck, and attributing it to that 
new-fangled method with the swivel, introduced by an 


184 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Englislmian a few years back, guaranteed me good sport it 
I would come with him, and try the method employed by the 
natives. So we took a boy and a boat, three rods and lines. 
The rods were reeds from the neighbouring ditches, which 
grow to a height of fifteen or twenty feet; the lines coarse 
thread and gut, no float or shot, a large perch-hook baited 
with a small worm, or, more commonly, with a rude artificial 
fly, in which case there are several hooks one below the 
other. The line is allowed to sink some five or six feet, and 
then drawn sharply in a slanting direction through the water. 
They assured me they caught more perch than any other fish 
in this way, and ridiculed my suggestion of cork and shot. 
After all the gar port's boasting, our efforts resulted in less than 
half-a-dozen tiny perch and roach. The season was bad, or the 
wind in the wrong quarter, or there was a peculiar run in 
the water—anything, in short, but scarcity of fish or defective 
tackle. In order, however, that I might not go away with 
an unfavourable impression of the lake in this particular, he 
induced two fishermen to take out one of their long nets, and 
certainly this time one haul did land a fine lot of large perch. 

Opposite to Isola Bella there is a mountain called Monterone, 
5,100 feet high, the loftiest of the range separating the Lago 
Maggiore from the Lago di Orta. It is usually crossed by 
mules at a point considerably below the summit, but that 
summit had been an object of desire with me ever since my 
arrival, and my climbing appetite had been sharpened this 
morning by the apparition of three Englishmen in regular 
Alpine kit—knapsack on back and alpenstock in hand—this 
place being not more than twenty miles or so from the great 
Simplon Pass. Besides this, while I w r as courting a little 
oblivion during the heat of the day, two Englishmen had 
started on the very excursion I now contemplated. I felt I 
could have capsized the fellow who gave me the information 
for not waking me up; but, on reflection, I reserved my 
wrath for some better occasion, and resolved, if possible, to 
outdo my countrymen by overtaking them before they 
reached Orta: they started at midday—I would start at 
midnight. Their guide had no sooner returned than I 
challenged him to a repetition of the same jaunt, which, 


MILAN, PAVIA, AND THE ITALIAN LAKES. 


185 


for a consideration of 5 francs, he readily accepted. A 
handsome young gargon from the hotel also begged to 
be allowed to join us. At 12 o’clock precisely we got 
into the little boat which was to carry us to the opposite 
shore. In twenty minutes we were there, and at once com¬ 
menced the ascent—the guide with my carpet-bag and a 
small lantern in advance, I next, and gargon last. Our path 
lay “through the darkness,” for the moon had risen and 
gone down, and although the stars were out in all their 
splendour, but little of their soft glimmering penetrated the 
thick foliage above our heads. Steeper and steeper grew the 
path—now rough, and now smooth—here, a large stone stood 
in the way, over which the poor gargon , being farthest from 
the light, invariably stumbled; there, a little trickling burn 
crossed our road; from time to time the wholesome smell of a 
hayrick or a cow-shed, and occasionally the house-dog’s 
bark, reminded us of the proximity of some little homestead, 
which in the gloom we were unable to see. About a mile from 
the summit, and at half-past 2 in the morning, we entered 
a small cabin where the inmates were already far into the 
day’s work. At midnight their labour commences, and this 
was the nature thereof as it came under my observation. 
In one corner a long upright churn with a piston suspended 
from crossbars above was being worked by four muscular 
peasants, who relieved one another in pairs at short intervals. 
At 4 o’clock they start with the produce of this toil for the 
lake-side towns, where they find a ready sale for the butter. 
The owner of the establishment was seated by a logwood fire 
superintending the boiling of a huge pan of milk. Very cold 
it was up there, and right willingly did we accept the good 
man’s offer to draw near while he brought us brown bread 
with butter fresh from the churn, and milk from the cow. 
Here we spent rather a silent hour, and I should probably 
have improved the occasion by a little sleep, had not my 
senses been disagreeably alive to the presence of one of 
these rude sons of the mountain at the churn. He was a 
gr im -looking giant of a fellow, with shaggy black moustache 
and beard; and whenever my drowsy glance chanced to 
alight on him through the sullen glare of the wood fire— 


186 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


his long brawny arms ascending and descending with the 
handle of the machine—his eyes were sure to be fixed on me, 
and a villainous curl hung about his lips. Then the idea 
half suggested itself, could the rascal be meditating some 
unholy purpose; and might not the guide, with whom he 
seemed on friendly terms, have whispered him that I intended 
descending the opposite side of the mountain alone ? And 
yet, in all probability, what, at that unearthly hour, and in 
that out-of-the-way region, may have assumed on his rude 
features the appearance of a savage grin, was, after all, 
but a harmless smile at the unusual apparition of an Inglese. 
In any case I was not sorry to see, on going to the door, that 
the dawn of day was already creeping gradually up over the 
hills on the eastern horizon—first the pale blue, then the 
yellow, and last the red; but ere the red had mixed its rays 
with those of the other two we were at the summit of 
Monteroiie. 

To see the sun rise had been a bright thought haunting 
me from the commencement of the ascent, the more than 
compensating reward for a not very toilsome journey. Judge, 
therefore, when dawn had fairly broken, how mortifying it 
was to discover that mischief had been brewing during the 
night—that clouds had been gathering, and were now 
rapidly coalescing to deprive me of my reward. For a few 
moments only did “ glorious Apollo” prevail against then- 
serried ranks ; for a few moments only did he scorch them 
with his tongues of fire, and, in generous spite, hem their 
murky garments with a rim of gold ; but during that brief 
interval the panorama was grand indeed—no fewer than seven 
lakes were visible, hills and valleys without number, and 
Monte Rosa with a glist ening array of snow-capped fair 
companions encircling all. Then did the enemy press on 
so overwhelmingly that the sun was vanquished, and, for 
a time, hauled down his golden plumes. Not satisfied with 
putting all in disorder above, the clouds poured down on the 
earth with a vengeance, soaking me through and through. 
In this condition, and burdened with a small bag, I walked 
twelve miles down hill to the town of Orta, on the lake of the 
same name, arriving about half-past 8, moderately fatigued, 


187 


MILAN, PAVIA, AND THE ITALIAN LAKES. 

and not a little chagrined to learn that the two compatriots 
I had thought to overtake had set off again two hours ago in 
another direction to that I was taking. The economy of the 
hostelry here was of that pleasing caravanserai character 
which I had met with in Pesth, and I therefore found that, 
when I awoke from a five hours’ sleep, the things I had put 
outside my door, to be dried, as I supposed, before the 
kitchen fire, were simply stretched over the balustrade of 
the open-air gallery, with which my bed-room communi¬ 
cated, and were now dried with better effect by the sun, 
which had appeared once again, and was shining high up 
in a cloudless sky. It was now 2 o’clock, and the placid 
blue waters of the lake, as I looked out upon them from 
the room in which my breakfast was being laid, were quite 
irresistible; so I took a boat, and, rowing out to a con¬ 
venient distance from the shore, bathed to my heart’s 
content. Having fasted since dinner-time the day before, 
with the exception of a little bread and butter and milk in 
the dairyman’s hut, a bath was scarcely necessary to generate 
a sensation of hunger, and I have little doubt but that the 
waitress of the hotel, if she be living, still remembers me as 
a phenomenon in that particular. Towards evening I saun¬ 
tered up the Sacro Monte, a beautiful woody hill at the back 
of the town. There are scattered over it no fewer than twenty- 
two small chapels grotesquely adorned with coloured figures 
in terra cotta, representing passages in our Saviour’s life, and 
affording but melancholy entertainment to an idle traveller. 
I lay down beneath the shade on a smooth grassy terrace 
overlooking the lake—a young monk sits not far off deeply 
engrossed in the life of a saint. We presently get into con¬ 
versation, and he conducts me to the top of a tower to have 
a peep at Monte Rosa ; and now he waits patiently till I will 
be pleased again to follow his steps and listen to his quasi 
love-sick descriptions of the belle vedute. And, indeed, it is 
not difficult to become enamoured of such scenery as this. 
There is the same soft voluptuous beauty around Orta as 
about Como and Maggiore, and to me, I think, it exists here 
even in a greater degree, possibly on account of its diminu¬ 
tive size, which seems to place it all more directly within 


188 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


grasp, and for the sake of that sweet little convent isle that 
nestles so peacefully on its bosom. 

July 2 oth .—Again on the Maggiore Lake , at Arona, on 
the south-western shore, to which place the diligence brought 
me early in the morning. The chief attraction here is the 
colossal statue of San Carlo, situated on an eminence at a 
short distance from the town. The site, however, is badly 
chosen, I think. With outstretched arms, the saint is sup¬ 
posed to be bestowing his benediction on the town; and 
although from his lofty stature he may just be able to see it, 
the town, unfortunately, is prevented by an intervening hill 
from seeing him. The figure itself is 66 feet high, the 
pedestal on which it rests 40 feet. It is made of bronze 
plates fastened together, and attached in places to a pile of 
solid masonry filling up the interior. The face of the old 
gentleman, in consequence of the unusual prominence of the 
centre feature, is extremely comical, though the rest of the 
figure is graceful enough. It used to be considered some¬ 
thing of a feat to get up into the head, but this is now 
accomplished probably by five out of every six Englishmen 
who go there. A ladder assists part of the way up from 
the outside; then you have to squeeze yourself into one of 
the folds of the upper garment, the entrance being so small 
that any inclination to corpulency renders the attempt im¬ 
possible. Once inside, the allowance of space is more liberal, 
and there are iron bars to aid you, but often so far apart, 
and so awkwardly placed that it is not even then easy to 
make headway. I sat myself bodily down in the old man’s 
nose as in an arm-chair, and through holes in the eyes had 
a passable view of the landscape in front. On descending 
I found an old priest with a lady and gentleman, and about 
five-and-twenty children, assembled to congratulate me on 
my safe return. 

July 2 6th .—Steamer across the lake at 11 a.m. to Sesto 
Calende , whence diligence to Milan , arriving at 7 in the 
evening after a dusty ride, chiefly along a straight road lined 
with dwarf acacias. 

July 29 th .—After two more days spent in visiting what I 
had not yet seen of the curiosities of Milan , I came out to 


189 


MILAN, PAVIA, AND THE ITALIAN LAKES. 

Pavia this morning by diligence, starting at half-past 4 o’clock 
and arriving at 8—three and a half hours travelling a distance 
of twenty miles—about the average Italian speed on a level 
road. 

Pavia la Dotta is one of the oldest towns in Italy—was 
once the first university, and the capital of Lombardy, and 
has still a body of students about equal in number to those 
of Oxford or Cambridge; but what John Mackintosh can 
mean by saying that ‘ ‘ one might imagine oneself walking 
about the streets of Oxford,” except for the presence of 
students, I cannot imagine. To me there is not the re¬ 
motest resemblance. Pavia scarcely deserves now to be 
mentioned in the same breath. The old crumbling walls 
which meet one at every turn in Oxford, and which give the 
place such a venerable aspect, are nowhere conspicuous here. 
Beyond an ancient church or two and the four towers of the 
University, there is scarcely an object to remind one of its 
high antiquity. The main body of the latter building is of 
quite modern date, in appearance like barracks; and the 
students have' no distinguishing costume. I went into some 
of their lecture-rooms, and in one of them a student was 
going through the ordeal of a vive voce examination before 
200 or 300 of his comrades. The poor fellow was seated in 
a chair apart from the rest, in front of the examiner, quiver¬ 
ing, blinking, and washing his hands in imaginary soap and 
water to a degree that seemed mightily to amuse the others, 
who were at no pains to conceal it. 

A more interesting relic than anything in Pavia is the 
Certosa di Pavia , five miles distant, allowed to be the finest 
monastery in the world. I set out for it on foot towards the 
middle of the day, along a dusty, unsheltered road, beneath 
a broiling sun. It ran parallel with a well-constructed 
canal the whole way, and in the latter I saw such shoals 
of large roach and chub as made me long for a rod and line. 
At the village of Torre del Mangano I refreshed myself with 
a delicious draft of cold red wine, handed to me in a white 
bowl, and from thence an avenue of trees brought me in ten 
minutes to the Certosa. It was founded in 1396 by Gian 
Galeazzo Yisconti, first Duke of Milan, as an atonement for 


190 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


family murders. It has undergone various changes of fortune, 
but appears to have lost little of its early splendour. The 
church is of course the richest portion of it—the fagade and 
interior being entirely of marble, and the external walls of 
red brick. The fagade , once probably of pure white marble, 
but tempered by age into a venerable shade of buff, is very 
imposing, and covered with the most lavish profusion of 
decorative sculpture. The interior reminded me of San 
Martino at Naples, only the chapels are more numerous and 
more extravagantly ornamented with costly marbles and 
Florentine mosaics. The fronts of almost all the altars, of 
which there must be from twenty-five to thirty, are inlaid 
with precious stones; many of them are the labour of 
fifteen or twenty years. In the sacristy, behind the high 
altar, is a quaint old altar-piece with a series of bas-reliefs 
cunningly worked in ivory from the teeth of the hippopo¬ 
tamus. The pictures and frescoes are numerous, but there 
are few of any great merit. It is almost a relief to get away 
from this gorgeous display of valuables into the simple 
cloisters where the monks reside—that is to say, they have 
their cells there, each containing four rooms and a pretty 
little garden behind. They are the fathers who live here, 
fifteen in number, and the brothers (whatever this distinction 
may mean) are the same in number, and have a long row of 
buildings on the other side of the church. 

On my way back to the village of Mangano , where I pro¬ 
posed to pass the night, I nearly trod on three or four superb 
green lizards, one after the other, from eight to ten inches 
long. I was glad to see from the signboard suspended in 
front of the inn that my slight knowledge of Italian was 
likely to be put to the test, as th q Hotel du Leon {Lion) betokened 
but an indifferent acquaintance with French; and so I found 
it, and suppose that neither the landlord nor any other 
soul in the village could speak half-a-dozen words of that 
language. The whole strength of the establishment was 
called into requisition to prepare my dinner—viz. host and 
hostess, two pretty little daughters, and the housemaid. 
Bread-soup, veal, and fruit were humble fare, but none the 
less appreciated from the good-humour with which it was 



MILAN, PAVIA, AND THE ITALIAN LAKES. 191 

served, and the apologies for being so ill-prepared. This 
matter disposed of, however, time hung rather heavily for 
aw T hile, and the sun was still in power. By-and-by a 
cooler atmosphere set in, and I sauntered out into the 
road. The villagers had returned from their labours in the 
field and were sitting in front of their cottages—the elders 
smoking and drinking, or playing with their children; 
the younger ones making love to their sweethearts; and the 
mothers giving their babies the nightly ablutions in the vil¬ 
lage stream. I saw the last barge go through the canal lock; I 
passed once more by the happy groups, re-entered the inn, and 
talked to my two little sweethearts till they were called off to 
bed. It was still only 8 o’clock, and I was wondering how the 
next two hours were to be disposed of, having neither books 
nor writing materials with me, when mine host—a handsome 
young fellow of about twenty-seven—inquired if I was 
fond of bathing ; of course I was, and I thanked him for the 
happy suggestion. The canal, to be sure, was not crystal 
clear, nor entirely free from weeds, but this was of little 
moment under the circumstances ; so we flung our towels 
over our shoulders, invited a friend of the landlord to join 
us, and wound up a sultry day with a gloriously refreshing 
swim. 

July 30 tli. —The diligence back to Milan was to pass the 
door at 8 o’clock this morning, but my bath had given me 
such an appetite for sleep that I might have spun it out till 
long past that hour, but for the officious intrusion of two 
petty Austrian officers, w r ho, without the least ceremony, 
marched into my room at 6 o’clock, and requested to see my 
passport. Fortunately I had it with me, or they would in 
all probability have framed some excuse for detaining me, 
although I had been assured at Milan that I should not re¬ 
quire it. An opportunity of making a little display of 
authority before the innkeeper does not fall in their way every 
day, I expect. 

My bill, which was very carefully made out—every single 
item being separately charged—amounted to the huge sum 
total of 2s. 3 d. ! This was for dinner, bed, breakfast, and 
service. How do the people live P But indeed it is refresh- 


192 


CONTINENTAL "WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


ing to alight for once upon a little out-of-the-way village 
like this, which the prevailing continental epidemic with re¬ 
gard to the Briton has not yet reached—where an English¬ 
man is not necessarily an unsocial purse-proud aristocrat, 
but may come and go on an equal footing with the rest of 
the human kind. 

The best lesson in Italian I ever had was from those two 
little dark-eyed beauties whom I romped with yesterday 
afternoon. With playmates like these, and a host and 
hostess full of unforced civility and good-humour, how 
could even a surly Briton be otherwise than amiable ! 


CHAPTER XY. 

THE SPLUGEN PASS—THE BATHS OF PFEFFERS—BODENSEE. 

August ls£.—At 6 a.m. I say farewell to Milan and its 
glorious old Duomo. From Strada Ferrata to Como, as once 
before ; thence steamer to Colic.o, at X. E. point of Lake. See, 
for the first time, people attacked with goitre. What a revolt¬ 
ing malady it is ! From Calico by diligence to Chiavenna in 
three hours, arriving at half-past 3 p.m. : a small town 
romantically situated in a narrow mountain gorge, a swift 
torrent rushing down through the middle of it, and giving 
life to a nupjber of mills. 

August 2nd .—At 3.30 A.M. start by diligence or eilwagen 
(haste carriage), as it is here called, for the Spliigen Pass of 
the Alps. Campo Dolcino is our first post, and a dirty insig¬ 
nificant little village it is, notwithstanding its sweet-sound¬ 
ing name. Soon after leaving this we come to that marvel¬ 
lous piece of engineering, by which the almost perpendicular 
side of the mountain is scaled. Now the road passes beneath 
frightful overhanging cliffs; now, where the ascent grows 
more rapid, it is a long series of zigzags; and now it runs 
through tunnels scooped out of the solid rock. About half¬ 
way up we cross, by means of a small bridge, a prettv 



THE SPLUGEN PASS. 


193 


mountain stream called tlie Mendessimo, which forms a 
beautiful little cataract by throwing itself oyer a precipice 
of about 100 feet in height, close to the road. By 10 o’clock 
we are at the summit, on a line with the snow, and upwards 
of 7,000 feet above sea-level. A trifling detention for the 
benefit of the Customs’ officers takes place here, and then, on 
commencing the descent of the opposite side, a magnificent 
panorama opens out to view. The Vorder and the Hinter- 
Rhein are seen rushing frantically on to mingle their waters 
at the bottom of the valley; the mountain’s sides bristle 
with dense forests of firs as far as the eye can reach, among 
which the road, after gracefully meandering for three or 
four miles, is finally lost to view. No great variety marks 
the prospect, but there is a colossal grandeur about those 
vast black-looking pine forests and those gigantic mountain 
peaks which compensates, in another sense, for lack of variety 
or smiling beauty. In a short time we reach the village of 
Spliigen. Here, in 1834, an avalanche swept away twelve 
houses, and the marks of devastation are still visible. While 
we were at dinner (12 o’clock) two young Germans arrived 
whom we had passed on foot near Campo Dolcino, and I induced 
them to take the eilwagen as far as An deer, that I might have 
companions through the celebrated Via Mala , which 1 in¬ 
tended to walk. This is considered the wildest and most fearful 
pass in all Switzerland—four miles of barren perpendicular 
rocks, rising often to a.height of 2,000 feet, separated at the 
top by what often appears to be an interval of not more than 
forty or fifty feet, and in places so sharply cleft asunder that 
it seems as if, could you but bring them together again, the 
corresponding projections and indentures would exactly fit. 
Little chalets are occasionally seen frightfully poised on the 
edge of a precipice; and below, at an average depth of 400 
feet, the young Rhine , here not far from its source, tumbles 
passionately along in its narrow rocky bed. It was to me a 
scene of awful and almost appalling solemnity: the little 
gleam of daily sunshine, too, had departed long ere we 
arrived, and had left it cold, and damp, and weird ; so that 
when the cheerful sunlit-valley of Domleschg presently burst 
into view, its snow-white cottages sparkling in the slanting 

o 


194 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


rays, the old tower of Realt looking down from a neighbour¬ 
ing hill, and the salient angles of the distant mountains 
glowing with delicious light, I was quite ready to echo 
the exclamation of one of my companions—" 2)ci$ JDedpel 
ift ttnvfftcf) cmgmefym!" If to come out of darkness into 
light be agreeable, then this change was certainly so. 
Thusis, where we were to sleep, was but half a mile from the 
end of the Pass. In 1845 it was almost entirely destroyed 
by fire, and is now in consequence a long new street of hand¬ 
some houses ; one of these was our hotel, named after the 
Pass, and very cheap and comfortable. About 7 o’clock we 
drank tea together beneath a verandah in full view of a 
superb sunset. The beverage was excellent, the mountain 
trout delicious, bread, butter, and honey the best of their 
kind. Our appetites were quite equal to the occasion, and our 
spirits full to the brim. In short, mutual appreciation 
extended so far that we exchanged cards on the spot, and 
agreed to travel in company as far as Lake Constance. One 
was a young officer in the Prussian army, and the other a 

young Dr. Otto H-, of some university near Leipzig, and 

of extreme poetic temperament. 

August 3rd. —Left Thusis at an early hour in a small one- 
horse vehicle for Coire, or Chur, a busy little market town 
of the Grisons. We shortly enter that picturesque part of 
the Rheinthal called Domleschg, the same that had appeared 
so beautiful to us through the gloom of the Via Mala. A 
striking feature about it is the number of ruined castles that 
come in sight one after the other on the hills and bold cliffs 
which flank it. At the foot of a steep mountain running 
across the bottom, lies the pretty village of Reichenau. 
where, in a large white house, now inhabited by a private 
family, but formerly a school, Louis Philippe, under the 
assumed name of C'habot, lived for eight months as usher. 
At Coire we dined, and, much to my surprise, saw a copy 
of the Times. Hence eilwagen to Ragatz, arriving at 5. At 
We Hotel de Tarnina, notwithstanding “ Murray’s” powerful 
little word ‘ ‘ complaints, ’’ bracketed against it, we found 
excellent accommodation, great civility, and a very moderate 
scale of charges. “ Murray” must be a frightful bugbear to 



THE BATHS OF PFEFFERS. 


195 


the continental landlords, and it is astonishing how soon 
they take his hints. The Hof Ragatz is an enormous esta¬ 
blishment, frequented chiefly by those who come to avail 
themselves of the mineral waters for which the place is 
famous, and which the enterprising proprietor has conducted 
into his hotel by means of large wooden pipes communicating 
directly with the spring, two-and-a-half miles distant. This 
we had ample time to visit on foot before darkness set in. 
The scenery by the way, and particularly the latter part of it, 
was to me far wilder and more weird than that of the Via 
Mala , although on a less gigantic scale. Until we reached the 
bath-house the way lay through a narrow mountain gorge, 
with the impetuous little Tamina foaming in its course below. 
But the wildest spot of all was the dark ravine leading 
from the bath-house to the spring itself—a place that Dante 
might have profited by, had he seen it, in his description of 
the descent aux cnfers. The rocks in many places absolutely 
met above our heads, and where they did not, the long grass 
on the surface-land threw its broad blades across the open¬ 
ing so as almost to shut out the light of day ; add to this the 
cold, damp atmosphere and the mysterious gurgling of the 
torrent in the abyss below, and a little shivering was perhaps 
excusable as we passed along the rickety wooden platform 
leading to the spring. This latter is protected by a small 
stone hut, from the door of which the hot vapour is ever 
issuing, at a temperature of 98°. It was originally discovered 
by a hunter, who, while pursuing a chamois, saw the vapour 
rising through the soil; medical men were soon found to 
attribute to it various remarkable hygienic qualities. At 
first, people were let down to it through the fissure in baskets; 
and afterwards little wooden houses were attached to the 
sides of the rock, into which the patient was also dropped by 
means of a stout rope, and remained a week or more until 
the cure was effected. But now a large bath-house has been 
erected a few steps from the source, and the place is known 
as the Baths of Pfoffers. In returning to our hotel, one of 
my companions, the doctor, was possessed by a fit of poetical 
excitement, and relieved himself 6 by quoting appropriate 
passages from Goethe, Schiller, and Heine all the way home. 


196 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


August 4 th. —Soon after sunrise the Professor and I were 
rambling oyer the little garden at the back of the hotel, 
neatly laid out with gray el-walks and beds of flowers, 
arbours, rustic seats and tables. Much amusement also was 
afforded us by a pair of falcons and a superb old owl with a 
young one, in cages. The good folks here haye had a plague 
of flies this summer. I neyer saw such swarms of the 
common house-fly; they blacken everything—tables, chairs, 
walls, and ceiling, and are swept away with the dust in 
heaps every morning. This process was scarcely completed 
in the Gast-stube ere our coffee was announced, and by half¬ 
past 6 o’clock we are again on the road towards the Bodensee , 
or Lake Constance , as we call it, with a famous pair of horses, 
a comfortable open carriage, and a jocular cocher. The air 
was fresh and the sky clear ; and as it was to be a ride of 
twelve hours we sincerely hoped (and were not disappointed) 
that the rest of the day would bear out the promise of 
morning. 

And this I conceive to be a fitting place for introducing 
to my readers a young female companion who has travelled 
with me now for a month or more, and whose unaffected 
simplicity of manners has been a subject of admiration, to 
strangers no less than to myself, during many an idle hour. 
I contracted a sincere affection for this harmless little bein'? 
—an affection, I may say, of no common kind, and one which 
still lingers pleasingly in the memory, although the object 
of it is long since dead. But I may as well at once relieve 
the tender sensibilities of those of my readers who are 
shocked at this intimate companionship, by informing them 
that this gentle solace of my idle hours was simply a small 
dumb animal, roundish in form, diminutive of her kind, and 
amply accommodated in a little box 5 inches by 3; nay, she 
had even a house of her own, and, for aught I know, could 
dispense with any other. She is, perhaps, even unlovable in 
her nature ; but then human nature we know is often incon¬ 
sistent in her caprices, and will set a value on objects which 
to others appear valueless because the end is not seen. 
When, therefore, I inform my indulgent friends that, from 
the moment my eyes lighted on the tiny creature, I destined 








rFEFFERS TO BREGENZ. 


197 


it as a present to a little human pet in the old country, my 
simplicity, I trust, will not be too severely dealt with. For 
assigning to it the feminine gender, I have no better reason 
than that both the French and German names for it are so ; 
her genus I consign to the curiosity of my readers. I have 
brought her forward at this stage of her history, because it 
is now that she first begins to create a public interest. 

It has not been forgotten, I hope, that we are on the road 
between Ragatz and Lake Constance. Every two or three 
hours we stop to refresh both the horses and ourselves at 
some village inn ; on these occasions, while the cup of fellow¬ 
ship goes round, my little protegee is invariably produced; 
she is placed upon the table, a lettuce leaf put before her, 
and in a few minutes the whole establishment has gathered 
round to see the feed. On one occasion the Professor, before 
a large company, made experiments on her, to find out 
whether she had ears, shouting out at the tip of his voice 
behind, before, and on both sides of her, but with no apppa- 
rent effect: we also tried her paces and found the maximum 
to be a yard in thirty seconds. In my subsequent wanderings 
through the Tyrol she served me habitually as a medium of 
introduction to the natives in small, out-of-the-way villages; 
and nothing was more amusing than to withdraw her mys¬ 
teriously from her hiding-place in one corner of my knapsack 
before the crowd of boys and girls who generally assemble at 
the inn door on- the arrival of a stranger; watch their terror 
at first—for she is a phenomenon here—and then see them, 
one by one, overcome by curiosity, take her in their hands, 
and sometimes ask permission to carry her in the box to 
show to their friends. Not seldom, too, the elder folks would 
gather round to hear what I could tell them of the age, 
habits, country, and growth of so rare a creature, and would 
seem never to tire of watching its quaint, solemn antics. 1 
shall, doubtless, have occasion, however, to speak of the 
little object again. Meantime we are still on the road 
between Pfeffers and the Bodensee , and there are few sights 
more interesting by the way than the number of females, 
from children of ten or twelve years up to old women, 
employed in embroidery and tambouring muslin. They sit 


193 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


in gossiping groups beneath, the shade of the far-projecting 
wooden roofs, with the work stretched on round and square 
frames before them. To the younger parties we doff our hats 
with the most graceful bow that our confined circumstances 
will admit of, and this never fails of a smiling, tittering 
reception. Many of them earn a sum equal only to 5d. or 
6d. a day, the best embroiderers not more than 10c?.; but then 
they live at less than half the cost our work-girls do here. 
Large quantities of the work come to the English market. 
Another notable curiosity was the rude fresco on the house 
walls— i.e. on the few which were of stone or plaster, 
by far the greater portion being entirely of wood. It was 
usually the Virgin, the figure of Christ, or of a patron saint, 
who would be depicted in the performance of some miraculous 
deed upon one of the family, with a full description beneath ; 
or, if an ale-house, the Virgin would probably be over the 
door, and on each side of it a giant with a very red nose, and 
a foaming mug of ale in his hand. Over many of the cot¬ 
tage doors is a rude inscription, sometimes in rhyme, com¬ 
memorative of the owner’s industry, which had enabled him 
to build his own house. The corn was nearly all cut and 
carried, but the maize, the staple production, was yet far 
from ripe. The grain grows, not at the top, but near the 
bottom of the stem ; the stalks frequently attain a height 
of ten or even twelve feet, and are planted in rows at some 
distance apart, the intervals being occupied by pumpkins, 
which at this time of the year, or a little later, when they 
are almost scarlet, tell with remarkable effect in the land¬ 
scape. We slept this night at Bor shack, a pretty modern 
town on the Bodensee. On an eminence above I visited a 
curious old monastery, once belonging to the powerful 
abbots of St. Galt, now a school. Here also I parted from 
my two German friends, promising to see them again, if pos¬ 
sible, on my way back through Prussia. 

August 5th.—Borshach to Bregenz by steamer, staying an 
hour at Lindau by the way, a cheerful little town built out 
into the lake; stroll into the public gardens; lounge beneath 
shady trees, and regain the pier just in time to see the 
Bregenz packet, with my luggage on board, steaming out of 


PFEFFERS TO BREGENZ. 


199 


the harbour. Fortunately another was starting soon after, 
and I suffered no inconvenience. Bregenz lies quite at the 
south-east extremity of the lake, almost the only portion of it 
where any pleasing combination of scenery prevails; the 
rest is flat and monotonous. I propose to spend a few days 
here for the sole purpose of picking up journalistic arrears, 
having pictured it to myself a sweet little unfrequented 
retreat, where I could enjoy as much undisturbed leisure as 
I chose. Alas ! never was greater fallacy. In the first 
place, I found it to be a bustling little market-town, the 
capital of the Vorarlberg, always very crowded at this period 
of the year, and particularly at the Golden Eagle , where I 
had the rqisfortune to put up, that being the hostelry specially 
favoured by a community of worthy, but very noisy, mer¬ 
chants, who come to purchase the wooden houses which are 
made in large quantities in the Bregenzer Wald. Then, again, 
I discovered only after arriving here that I was actually 
already in the Tyrol—that lovely home of romantic scenery, 
for which I had resolved to sacrifice even the grander beauties 
of Switzerland, and where every hour withdrawn from the 
green valleys and mountain slopes would seem an ungrateful 
squandering of the precious moments. Under such a com¬ 
bination of circumstances, therefore, journalising was not 
likely to make much progress, nor did it. During five happy 
days I was climbing over the hills, sauntering along the 
margin of the lake, bathing in its limpid waters, listening to 
military music on the public promenade, reading German 
with the landlord’s nephew, a boy of twelve years, beneath 
a group of shady chestnuts by the water’s edge—anywhere, 
in short, but at work on the unfortunate journal. 

In one of my rambles I lost my way for a long time in a 
thick forest, and as the hours wore away I began to despair 
of escaping ere nightfall, when at length a slight break 
in the dense foliage showed me that I was on high ground, 
and that there was a considerable village in the valley some 
few miles distant. By the help of an invaluable little pocket 
compass I steered directly for it, and in about a couple of 
hours found myself blessing the hospitality of the chief 
hostelry of Dornbirn , a large and important village, with a 


200 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


population three times that of Bregenz, chiefly devoted to 
the afore-named manufacture of wooden houses. Not far from 
here I was told was a village of chamois hunters; but when 
I intimated how much I should like to see a little of their 
sport, the landlord referred me to Baron Pollnitz at Bregenz, 
to whom the land belonged, and without whose permission 
the thing was not to be thought of. As his wife was English 
this seemed a simple matter, and I straightway set out again 
on the return to Bregenz, in order at once to make the neces¬ 
sary application. A steady downfall of rain, however, 
which threatened to be more than a passing shower, cooled 
my ardour; and when I regained the hotel in Bregenz, a 
very decided assertion on the part of one of my merchant 
acquaintances, to the effect that the chamois, or gemse, as 
they are there called, were becoming so rare, that a general 
hunt was only allowed to take place twice in the season, 
decided me at once to postpone the coveted pleasure to some 
more fitting time and place. 


CHAPTER XYI. 

INNSBRUCK—ACHENSEE-BAD KEETJTH—TEGEBNSEE. 

August 10th.—Stellwagen at 4 a.m., for Innsbruck. The 
stellwagen is both a heavier and more snail-like machine than 
the eilwagen; it is a compound of a coach and an omnibus, 
with a pace of barely five miles an hour, and a lazy habit of 
stopping to refresh and “pick up ” at every little place along 
the route. But perhaps to the tourist, whose object is not 
haste, this is rather a gain than not. It affords him leisure 
for observation, both of the country and of the people, 
which, in a quicker mode of travelling, is next to impossible. 
In this sense it is, in short, the most satisfactory mode of 
progression after walking, which is the best of all. 

My companions in the coupe were a German artist and his 
pipe, and by-and-by a cigar of my own, which I was 



INNSBRUCK. 


201 


obliged to produce in self-defence. The interieur was full 
both of humanity and of smoke; among the former a 
brown-hooded Dominican friar, whose eloquence I had 
listened to in the church at Bregenz the day before. This 
dirty, unwashed fraternity have the right of travelling about 
the country in any of the public vehicles, and also of billet¬ 
ing themselves, free of cost, upon any of the inns or hotels 
by the way. If this individual be a sample of the rest they 
are much addicted to wine ; and although the landladies and 
their daughters are generally reverential in their bearing 
towards them, addressing them always as Herr Vater, and 
following them to the coach door to receive a parting bene¬ 
diction, many of the poorer ones look as though they could 
willingly dispense with the blessing and the tax at the same 
time. 

For the first few stages our road lies through lovely 
valleys, teeming with population and vegetation, the hills 
clothed with dense woods of oak, beech, and fir, interspersed 
with patches of grass of an almost English green, even at 
this advanced season. In the midst of a drizzling ‘ Scotch ” 
mist we commence the ascent of the Arlberg, a pass 5,500 
feet above the sea-level. But for the rain, the prospect 
behind us over the valleys would have been magnificent. 
When about half-way up the rain ceased, to be succeeded 
only by a dense drifting white vapour, of a searching icy 
cold. I saw here, for the first time, the prickly Alpine rose, 
unfortunately not in bloom. The descent was very steep, . 
through the romantic Stanserthal, watered by the meander¬ 
ing Rosanna. Yet what a total change from the soft scenery 
of Italy ! The valley contracts its bounds, and the hills 
which flank it are covered with impenetrable fir forests, of 
such Tartarean hue, that seen as we saw them, going ever 
steeply down, and the sun already sunk, with a little imagi¬ 
nation we might almost have fancied ourselves leaving the 
world above for a more dismal one below. In many parts 
the road was choked with heaps of stone and earth that had 
been washed down from the mountains by a heavy storm 
only four days previously. A passage was cleared for the 
coach, but the rubbish frequently reached up to the windows. 


202 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Between 8 and 9 A.M. we reached a considerable village 
called Landek, where we supped and slept. J 

August 11 th .—Start again at half-past 4 in the same 
vehicle. “ Scotch” mist still spoils the view, and by-and- 
by there is a strange spectacle of white clouds hanging like 
thick drapery against the grey cliffs to within seventy or 
eighty feet of the ground, and looking as though one might 
chop them up with a knife and fork. The first place of im¬ 
portance we pass through is the small town of Imst, lately 
rendered celebrated as the death-place of the King of 
Saxony. Soon after leaving it we are shown the turn in the 
road where the foolish accident happened which occasioned 
it. He was thrown from his carriage by the careless driving 
of the coachman, and his temple came in contact with a 
sharp stone, which terminated his career in a few days. A 
chapel now marks the spot. About seven miles on this side 
of Innsbruck is a place of still higher celebrity in connection 
with the great Maximilian, Emperor of Germany, at the 
beginning of the sixteenth century. The road skirts the 
base of a stupendous cliff called Martinswand. Before reach¬ 
ing it attention is directed to a hole near the summit, in 
which, with the aid of a glass, you may distinctly perceive 
one or more crucifixes, it being a custom with the pious folk 
of these parts, and indeed with the people of most Catholic 
countries, to commemorate any remarkable event by a 
Calvary. The Calvary in question commemorates a very 
narrow escape of the above-named emperor. He was an 
intrepid sportsman, and would often give chase to a chamois 
where others dared not follow. He was one day pursuing a 
wounded animal along the edge of this precipice when he 
lost his footing, and would have been speedily dashed to 
pieces at the bottom, had he not arrested his fall by clinging 
head downwards to a small ledge of rock, from which, as it 
seemed, however, there was no chance of rescuing him. In 
this perilous position he was seen from below, and the abbot 
of the neighbouring convent commenced offering up the 
prayers for one in articulo mortis. All at once the emperor, 
just as his strength began to fail, heard a shout from above, 
and in a few moments a brave chasseur of the village was at 




INNSBRUCK. 


203 


his side, and shortly succeeded in extricating him from this 
fearful jeopardy, and reconducting him by narrow ledges, 
along which a chamois would hardly have ventured, to the 
top of the rock. His preservation was naturally attributed 
to the intervention of an angel, and the spot where he hung 
suspended was to be ever after considered sacred. Whatever 
truth there may be in the supernatural part of the story, it 
is gratifying to find that the human agent in his preservation 
was afterwards rewarded with an appropriate title and pen¬ 
sion, the title being Count Hollauer von Ilohenfelsen , or 
“ Holloaer of (or from) the Highrock.” The Martinswand 
runs some way out into the valley, and immediately after 
rounding it, Innsbruck, the capital of the Tyrol, comes into 
view. Its situation is both grand and picturesque, to a 
degree that few other capitals can boast. The cheerful little 
valley in which it lies is watered by the river Inn, while 
mountains from 6,000 feet to 8,000 feet high, tower up pro- 
tectingly at the back. We arrived at 4 o’clock, and I put 
up at the Gasthaus zum Goldenen Adler —not the cleanest or 
most aristocratic, but attractive from its association with 
Hofer, the noblest of the Tyrolean leaders in the War of 
Independence, who once lived here. My artist friend kindly 
offered me his services as cicerone through his native town 
during the rest of the evening; and such a gorgeous ap¬ 
pearance did he make, in a bright blue coat and brass 
buttons, that I could scarcely recognise in him the shabby, 
smoke-dried individual with whom, for two whole days, I . 
had shared the diligence coupe . 

August 12th .—I made a more careful examination of the 
town to-day; but first accompanied my resplendent cicerone 
in a stroll out to the Castle of Weiberg—a favourite hunting- 
box of the Emperor Maximilian, occupying the brow of a 
slight elevation on the other side of the river, small and 
insignificant in itself, but commanding a lovely view of the 
town and valley. In descending, we breakfasted at the 
pretty little vilage of Muhlau, and then my companion left 
me in order to visit some friends. If there were nothing 
else to see in Innsbruck but the tomb of Maximilian, that 
alone would well repay a long journey. It is one of the 


204 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


most splendid monuments in Europe, and unique of its 
kind. On entering the Hofkirclie , this enormous cenotaph 
is the first and most striking object on which the eye rests. 
It stands twelve feet high, or more, in the centre of the aisle, 
enclosed within an iron railing, and on the top is a bronze 
effigy of the Emperor in an attitude of prayer. The four 
sides of this sarcophagus are richly adorned with twenty- 
four bas-reliefs in fine Carara marble. They represent scenes 
from the life of Maximilian—our Henry VIII. being three 
or four times introduced—and are executed with such deli¬ 
cacy of finish as to be almost equal to the early cameo-work. 
Twenty of them are by Alexander Colin, of Mechlin; the 
remaining four, by two brothers from Cologne , bear no com¬ 
parison to the others. On each side of the central aisle is a 
long row of colossal bronze figures, twenty-eight in number, 
representing the most distinguished personages, male and 
female, of the House of Austria. The dresses and armour 
are very elaborately worked, and give a capital idea of the 
costume of the times. Other notable monuments in this 
church are those of Archduke Ferdinand II. and his beau¬ 
tiful wife Philippina Welser; and more interesting still, that 
of Hofer, the adored of the people, and the glorious deli¬ 
verer of his country from the hated Bavarian rule. De¬ 
fiantly erect the noble fellow stands, with the air of dauntless 
bravery he always wore before the enemy. He is clad in 
the simple native dress, with the standard of freedom in his 
right hand, and his left grasping the barrel of a rifle slung 
across the shoulder. In January, 1810, this quondam inn¬ 
keeper, and afterwards Governor of the Tyrol and leader of 
its army, was betrayed by a mercenary countryman into the 
hands of the French, who had set a price upon his head. He 
was sent to Mantua, and shot there, by order of Napoleon, 
on February 10th of the same year. His body was trans¬ 
ferred from Mantua to this church in 1823. The statue is in 
white marble, from a native quarry, On the opposite side 
is a separate monument to the Tyrolese who perished in the 
struggle. In connection with the tomb of the great Em¬ 
peror is a singular fact, that although in his will he gave 
orders for the construction of this church expressly that he 


INNSBRUCK. 


205 


might be buried in it, his body, after all, lies interred at 
Wiener Neustadt, in Austria. There is something quite 
startling in the aspect of those twenty-eight gigantic metal 
emperors and archdukes as on first entering the church ; but 
although they take the imagination wonderfully back into 
the Middle Ages, one is apt to feel, perhaps, that such an 
exhibition would have looked more at home in the galleries 
of the national museum. And they have a very good 
museum here, called the Ferdinandeum, with several very 
interesting, and exclusively national, relics and curiosities— 
carvings in wood and small marble statuary; among the 
latter an exquisite little group, representing JEneas carrying 
his father from Troy, and the little Ascanius running along¬ 
side. Among the MSS. is a letter written by Lord Bathurst 
to Hofer, accompanying a gift to the Tyrolese from the 
British Government of £30,000, to assist them in their 
struggle, but which unfortunately arrived too late to be of 
any service. 

August YSth .—I never witnessed a better illustration of the 
strange optical illusion with regard to the distance of 
mountains than was presented to me early this morning. 
On looking from my window just before sunrise I can posi¬ 
tively affirm of that long jagged mountain ridge which 
erects itself so majestically behind the town that it appeared 
most distinctly to be hanging immediately over the house¬ 
tops to within pistol-shot of where I stood; and I should 
have been almost ready to swear to this as a fact, had I not 
known that its summit was at least eight miles distant. The 
same phenomenon may be witnessed, I believe, just after 
sunset, when the atmosphere is more than usually still and 
clear, and hence a saying they have about “the wolves 
keeping watch over the town by night.” I have seen the 
same effect also in the Fyrennees, from behind the town of 
Fau, which is, however, thirty miles and more distant from 
that glorious range. 

I occupied the early portion of the morning in a pilgrimage 
to Heiligenwasser —a holy spot two-thirds of the way up one 
of these giant hills. By 6 o’clock I was already some dis¬ 
tance from the town; but as the sun had risen, the watchful 


206 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


eye of the wolf was no longer necessary, and the mountains 
had deferentially retired before the good citizens’ morning 
toilet. Long and steep was the path, and it lay through a 
pine forest where one of those dreary winding Kreuzgangs, 
so numerous throughout the Tyrol , was £ £ dragging its slow 
length along.” They usually conduct the pious traveller 
from a town or village up to a church placed on an eminence 
which some remarkable event, or life-giving relic, or spring, 
has rendered peculiarly sacred. Every hundred paces or so 
are little stone sentry-boxes, which you are expected to re¬ 
gard as chapels ; each containing a melancholy daub of some 
incident in our Saviour’s life, with a description and prayer 
beneath. A simple cross, one would think, or a few short 
texts, or even a prayer (and some of those I read were beauti¬ 
fully simple and devotional) would tend more to edification 
than those wretched caricatures. By 8 o’clock I had gained 
the little church and tasted the holy water—good enough 
in its way, but not so life-giving in itself as to enable one to 
dispense with the bottle of wine and bread and honey which 
generally follow it. Having duly enjoyed the extensive Hew 
I descended by the same path for a considerable distance, 
but on emerging from the forest took a road which led away 
from the town to Schloss Ambras, once the residence of 
that same Archduke and his beautiful wife whose monuments 
I saw in the church. The architecture of the present build¬ 
ing is not remarkable, and its former chief attraction, a 
splendid collection of armour, is removed to Vienna , where 
I saw it. Near the castle is an interesting spot of green called 
the Tummelplatz, supposed to be the ancient tournament- 
ground, and last apiiropriated as a burial-place for more 
than 8,000 soldiers, it is said, who were carried off by an 
epidemic in 1799—the castle being converted for the time 
into a military hospital. 

On returning to Innsbruck I provided myself with a small 
knapsack and a stout stick, intending to lay myself open to 
the charms of pedestrianism a little more than heretofore, 
and took the stellwagen at 4 o’clock to Schwatz, so as to com¬ 
mence walking from there towards Munich early on the 
following morning. 



ACHENSEE. 


207 


August 14 tli .—I had a pleasing rencontre last night, which 
accounts no doubt for my not getting up before half-past 6 
this morning—a late start for a thorough-going pedestrian. 
It happened that mine host was one of the identical family 
of minstrels whose joddeling choruses created such a sensa¬ 
tion in England many years ago. He well remembered 
certain civilities at the hands of my uncle in Oxford; and I 
need not say, therefore, that, what with vocal harmony and 
a mutual interchange of pleasant reminiscences, it was not 
a particularly early hour when we parted for the night. I 
would gladly have spent a day or two in his jovial society, 
but at times the theory of “ perpetual motion ” in the midst 
of beautiful scenery is too enticing to yield to any other 
desire. I got a companion for my walk in the person of a 
worthy and intelligent middle-aged Wurtemburgian burgher, 
with whom and his good lady I shared the coupe yesterday. 
We agreed to walk on to Achensee , and there wait for the 
lady, who would follow, par diligence, with the baggage. 
There was a magnificent prospect from Jenbach at the end 
of the valley, the Stubei glaciers filling up a gap in the 
distance. A narrow and steep defile, watered by a pleasant 
little rivulet, conducts us to Buchan, on the shore of the Lake 
of Achen. Why so lovely a spot should be so thinly popu¬ 
lated is more than one can understand; unless it be that 
the steep conical hills which hem it in, and are a chief 
element in its beauty, offer, by their sterility, but little 
inducement to the peasant, whose first necessity is good 
pasturage for his cattle. At Buchan we rest and refresh, 
until at 2 o’clock madam and the baggage arrive ; we take a 
small boat to transport us to the other end of the lake, six 
miles. I should like, to hear the difference of colour in 
water satisfactorily explained. Is it according to the depth ? 
does it depend on the nature of the soil beneath, or on 
certain chemical ingredients which enter into its composition ? 
or has the colour of the sky anything to do with it P I 
remarked here that whenever we were in shallow water it 
was of a pale transparent green, and the moment we got out 
into the deep it changed to a dark, but still transparent, 
blue. The Bay of Biscay is dark green, the Mediterranean 


208 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


an intensely opaque sky-blue. At a small inn with the 
high-sounding title of Scolastica, probably from haying once 
belonged to a “ holy fraternity” who now own the fisheries 
of the lake, we counted on getting a lodging for the night, 
expecting to find it equally deserted as the other end of the 
lake, and that we should be quite a boon to them. No such 
thing; it was full to excess, and of distingue people, too, 
being the favourite resort of the invalids of Bad Kreuth —a 
watering-place not far off. Austrian officers with their fair 
ones were drinking coffee on the balcony hanging over the 
lake, and, while a heavy shower was passing over, we 
prudently followed their example; then, finding there was 
not a room, nor even the corner of a room to be had, we 
walked on to Achenkirche, a straggling village about two 
miles distant, being entertained by the way with edifying 
reports of the overflowing condition of the inn there also, 
and the prospect of having to pass the night in a peasant’s 
cottage. There would be a novelty about this which I thought 
rather pleasant and desirable than not; but it turned out 
otherwise. The hotel was full, but after a little skilful flattery 
from Mein Herr towards the very plain old landlady, she 
consented to endeavour to make some arrangement for our 
accommodation. While our rooms were preparing I took 
a solitary and appetising stroll over the hills; and having 
partaken of nothing more substantial than coffee and bread 
and cheese since the previous evening it will be easy to 
imagine the kind of justice that was rendered to a basin of 
egg soup and a dish of Forellen. The latter are the delicious 
little mountain trout that one gets in such perfection 
throughout the Tyrol. They boil them in water slightly 
diluted with vinegar, and this turns them such a peculiar 
leaden-blue colour, that you would scarcely recognise them 
when they come to table, but for the bright vermilion spots, 
now more visible than ever. 

August loth. —We were up soon after 5 o’clock, trusting to 
be able to get coffee and start again at 6 . Jour-de-fete —whole 
household gone to church—travellers must consequently 
wait. At length coffee comes, and disappears; a boy is 
engaged to follow us, with a wheelbarrow and our effects, to 




BAD KREUTH. 


209 


Kreuth ; and by 8 o’clock we are en route . The peasants are 
all in holiday costume. What a becoming dress it is—that 
of the men ! Some fifty or sixty of these are assembled in 
front of our inn, all smoking the universal pipe with the 
china bowl, and moving about from one to the other, to 
exchange salutations, and talk over whatever of interest has 
transpired since the last Feiertag, which probably was not 
more than a fortnight ago, for they succeed one another 
very rapidly in this holiday-loving country. The prevailing 
costume—to begin at the top—is the conical felt hat, with 
gold band and tassels, and occasionally a small plume of 
feathers or bunch of flowers; a gay handkerchief round the 
neck, loosely tied in a bow; a black velvet jacket and 
breeches, and on the right hip of the latter a small pocket 
to hold the indispensable knife, fork, and spoon, the handles 
of which are always projecting some two or three inches, 
and are usually of plated silver, with fanciful designs, or 
handsomely carved wood; below the breeches descend milk- 
white stockings, in many cases tastefully ornamented with a 
stripe of open work on the outer side: a pair of dress-boots 
might seem a fitting termination to all this, but I am bound 
in truthfulness to say that the article they rejoice in is of a 
nature more in accordance with their rustic occupations. 
Besides the men already in front of the door, and an equal 
number in the guests’ room drinking and smoking, others 
keep swarming in from all directions, and the Guten morgen 
work as we pass along the road is almost laborious. The . 
women’s dress is hardly so becoming as the men’s, yet pic¬ 
turesque enough in its way. The hats and head-dresses 
vary according to the villages from which the wearers come ; 
a large coloured handkerchief is allowed to fall loosely over 
the shoulders, and is enclosed in a stiff black buckram stay, 
below which is generally a short stuff or print dress. 

Our walk was delightful, the road lay all the way along a 
narrow valley watered by a mountain torrent, with thick 
woods of pine and beech and oak stretching up the hills 
on either side, and overshadowing the path. At the Bavarian 
Custom House, in the middle of the valley, I expected to pay 
something for a box of carved chessmen I had bought at 

P 


210 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Bregenz, but my companion, who was an officer of the Douane 
at Stuttgardt, by the magic of a single word, passed both my 
own bags and his without one of them being touched. I 

found Herr und Frau L -rather slow company at first, and 

doubtless the same opinion was formed of me; but now our 
mutual regard began to improve, especially when we dis¬ 
covered a common capacity for conversing pretty fluently in 
French; and, barring a habit of perpetually quoting from 
Horace and Juvenal, and referring to his wife to assure me 
how fond he had always been of the classics, the Herr was, in 
point of fact, a right sociable and entertaining fellow. The 
lady I remember chiefly as a pleasant homely body, with a 
genuine and unaffected admiration of natural scenery, and a 
talent for making pretty little off-hand water-colour sketches, 
which I greatly envied when I thought of my own clumsy 
efforts in that direction, for they had induced me, in de¬ 
spair, at an early period of my tour, to send my apparatus 
back to England again. The overgrown youth, who wheeled 
our luggage fifteen miles for 4 s., only resting twice by the 
way, was a shrewd fellow and full of witty observations; 
but that which pleased us most was a compliment he paid to 
Madame: she showed him her sketch of the lake, and asked 
him what he thought of it—to which he replied that he 
thought it “a very impertinent picture.” Tegernsee—see 
meaning always lake in German—was to be the termination 
of our day’s march, viz., twenty-four miles. Madame walked 
as far as Bad Kreuth, more than half the way, without ap¬ 
pearing in the least fatigued, and there took the diligence , 

Herr L - and I continuing on foot. Bad Kreuth is a 

fashionable resort of the Municheans. The properties of its 
mineral waters are said to be excellent for certain com¬ 
plaints, and particularly for ennui , which I am told is the 
name of a malady not confined to Germany. The Bad con¬ 
sists simply of the post inn, and an enormous, intrusive, white 
bath-house, but charmingly situated in the centre of an 
amphitheatre of most beautifully wooded hills. The nu¬ 
merous waiters had their hands so full of business that it 
was impossible to. get any attention, and we had to walk 
another three miles for our lunch. We reached the Tegernsee 




TEGEKNSEE. 


211 


about 5 o’clock, just as I bad finished ‘‘ pumping ” Herr L - 

on the subject of the Wurtemburgian constitution, and com¬ 
paring it with our own, which it much resembles. 

Our first coup d’oeil of the lake was delightful in the ex¬ 
treme, and none the less so, doubtless, from the fact of our 
having just quitted a narrow, rock-bound glen, into which 
the light and warmth of the afternoon sun but feebly pene¬ 
trated. There seemed to me a cheerful and animated beauty 
about this lake that I had not observed in those of North 
Italy. Everything in the latter lies wrapped in languor and 
luxurious repose, and the very air is thick with perfumes 
that steep the senses in enjoyment, and land you in that dolce 
far niente of existence, which, however delightful for a time, 
grows almost wearisome at last. Here, on the contrary, 
is a delicious freshness and buoyancy in the air, which not 
only invests with a look of animation every object that meets 
the eye, but also braces up both mind and body into one per¬ 
petual round of industrious activity. Hence, in the bright 
green verdure of the meadows—in the healthy vigour of the 
woods—in the joyous carols of the birds—in the resounding 
strokes of the woodman’s axe—in the dancing sunlight upon 
the rippling waters—in the elastic step of the peasant and 
the heartiness of his "@utett morgen, mein -£>crr!"—above 
all, in the happy faces and frolicsome sports of the children, 
you feel that there is one all-pervading and never wanting 
element of jubilant life, which keeps you, so to speak, 
always wound up to concert pitch. No wonder, therefore, 
that I fall in love with the place at first sight, and resolve, 
without a moment’s hesitation, to linger a few days in the 
neighbourhood. 

Our first care was to seek out the hotel Guggemos, where 

we hoped to find Frau L -. To avoid a long detour , 

we crossed the lake in a boat rowed by a woman—six 
planks fastened together in couples, two for the bottom, and 
two for each of the sides;—such is the primitive nature of 
the Bavarian navy. Arrived at the hotel in question, no one 
could give us, with any degree of certainty, the latitude and 

longitude of Frau L -. That she had applied for a double- 

bedded room they knew; that she had gone away because 





212 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


there was not one they also knew, and that she was still in 
the village they believed, but where was to them a matter of 
doubt and indifference. Not so to the fond husband; every 
unsuccessful inquiry only increased his anxiety. What 
could have become of her ? The only other hotel in the place 
he knew was also full. Might she have returned by some 
other vehicle to Kreuth, in the hope of meeting us, and 
saving us the necessity of coming to a place where no lodg¬ 
ing was to be had ? Could she have been carried on to 
Munich ? Or, worse than all, might not that handsome 
young forester, who sat next to her in the diligence, forgetful 
of the laws of meum and tuum , have been overcome by her 
charms, and run away with her altogether P Such possibly 
were a few of the doubts which crossed the mind of the 
anxious Mann as we wandered inquiringly from house to 
house. But such toils, and such perseverance could not go 
long unrewarded. We came at length upon the right clue, 
but it took us back to the very opposite end of the village, 
a long and straggling one. Of walking we had had enough. 
A boat station close at hand was too inviting not to be taken 
advantage of, and two charming young girls, with sugar- 
loaf hats, to row us, only an extra inducement. The juvenile 
travelling companion, whom I have before alluded to as 
being the occupant of one corner of my knapsack, was here 
produced, and caused a good deal of amusement, being quite 
a stranger to the fair Bavaroises, who could only be induced 
to touch it after a series of shrieks and threatenings to 

throw themselves into the water. Meanwhile poor Mrs. L- 

is hopefully awaiting our arrival in front of a cottage where 
she has engaged a couple of rooms—no other than the domi¬ 
cile of Schneider Bollinger, humblest of village tailors. The 
faithful pair having reconciled their doubts and anxieties, 
we go together to sup at the Guggemos —not an euphonious 
name certainly, but suggestive to me of much good cheer and 
many a pleasing recollection. It was holiday-time here as 
well as at Achensee, and the place was as full as it could be. 

My two friends left the next morning in the midst of a 
pelting shower of rain, which in fact prolonged itself far into 
the following week, and kept me and the rest of the holiday 



MUNICH. 


213 


folks pretty milch confined to the hotel, where I soon con¬ 
trived to get a bed. This dashed the bright visions of hill¬ 
side rambles and beautiful scenery I had conjured up on the 
evening of our arrival; but the Bavarians are a jovial set of 
fellows, and adverse circumstances do not readily damp their 
spirits. In short, the cheerfulness in-doors about compen¬ 
sated for the want of it outside. The order of the day was 
thus:—Coffee and small roll at 8 ; a stroll through the 
gardens of a castle belonging to Prince Carl, or a row on the 
lake if weather permitted; dinner at 12—a cup of coffee and 
cigar ; supper, conversation, and glee-singing from 7 till 10. 
Or for the more plebeian and lazier portion of the community 
it was thus :—Breakfast, beer, and pipe; dinner, beer, and 
pipe; supper, beer, and pipe. Lord Ponsonby, next to 
Prince Carl, is the great man of the place. The people’s 
notion of his wealth is something fabulous; I am afraid to 
say how many florins a minute. The landlord of Guggernos, 
indisputably the burliest and joiliest of his craft I ever 
knew, informed me that his lordship came down to the inn 
most days for a glass of beer and a chat with him. He is a 
great patron of the rifle, and there was much excitement 
just now about some shooting to take place on the following 
Sunday and Monday, at which he had promised numerous 
prizes. But as the weather continued to get less inviting 
every day, I thought I might just as well be inspecting 
museums and picture galleries in Munich, and accordingly 
took the diligence there on the Wednesday, arriving, after a 
long ride over a flat, uninteresting country, at 5 o’clock in 
the afternoon. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MUNICH. 

August 20th.—Munich is undoubtedly one of the most 
extraordinary capitals in Europe; and if its improvement is 
continued on the same scale of magnificence, and with the 
same rapidity, during the remaining portion of the present cen- 



214 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


tury, there will be few cities to compare with it. At the end 
of the last century it was but a very ordinary, second-rate 
German capital; now it occupies double the space it then 
did, and is enriched by palaces, churches, and works of art, 
to an extent that seems almost incredible when one reflects 
it is all the result of the labours of one man, the ex- 
king Lewis. There is, however, another reflection one 
is obliged to make that is less agreeable, viz. that scarcely 
anything is original, its plumes are all borrowed. Thus, for 
example, the Konigsbau is an enfeebled copy of the Pitti 
Palace at Florence ; the frescoes on the walls of the corri¬ 
dors are Pompeian; the Sieges Thor is a repetition of the 
Arch of Constantine, in Rome ; and the beautiful church of 
St. Boniface is imitated from St. Paul’s, without the walls, 
at Rome. But so stately are some of these edifices, others 
so elegant, and so pleasantly do they recall to the traveller, 
fresh from Italy and Greece, the models he has there seen, 
that one must eulogise a monarch who chose thus to adorn 
his capital. It was the safest as well as the most expeditious 
way; and it says much for his modesty and the purity of his 
taste, that he feared less the accusation of an imitator, in 
selecting the chaste monuments of the ancients for his 
models, than that of an innovator, by introducing a style 
new and singular, which, however great might have been its 
merit, would probably have had many more fault-finders 
than admirers. 

The difference between the old and new town is most 
marked : the former is completely surrounded by the latter. 
In the old, the streets are narrow and dirty, the houses of 
irregular heights, and dovetailed one into the other; in the 
new, the long broad streets intersect one another at right 
angles, and stretch out in all directions into the great plain 
in the centre of which Munich stands. If you place your¬ 
self in the spot where four streets meet, look whichever way 
you will, the eye falls on a long vista of terraced houses 
running out into the distance, and scarcely can one street be 
found that is not beautified by some handsome public edifice. 
The Ludwigstrasse has not, in many respects, its equal 
in the world. It contains the University, the Church of 


MUNICH. 


215 


St. Lewis, the Library, the Blind Asylum (built by the king 
from his privy purse), the palace of Prince Max, the Geor- 
gianum , or Priests’ Seminary (named from Prince George 
the Eich, its founder), the Young Ladies’ School ( Tochter- 
schule), and the Ladies’ College (Damenstift )—all recent con¬ 
structions. At one end it is terminated by the splendid 
Arch of Triumph; at the other by the hall or portico of the 
Marshals. One thing, however, is to be regretted—namely, 
that with a population of 120,000 these magnificent streets 
look comparatively deserted. This may possibly be accounted 
for by the fact that so many of the buildings are appropriated 
to museums and other public purposes, and therefore only 
partially habitable; but the population of a town with so 
many attractions cannot fail rapidly to increase, and then, 
with a wise king and an improved administration, I see not 
what should prevent it from becoming one of the most ad¬ 
mired capitals in Europe. 

Its churches, par excellence, deserve the first notice; but 
time obliges me to make it a very brief one. The Frauen - 
kirche, which is also the cathedral, was erected in 1488 ; it is 
a vast pile, entirely of brick, distinguished by two tall dome- 
capped towers, and remarkable, in my opinion, for nothing 
but its ugliness: near the west end of the centre aisle is a 
spot marked by a foot carved in one of the stones, where, if 
you stand and look all round, not one of the windows is 
visible. In front of the high altar is a handsome monument 
erected to the Emperor Lewis the Bavarian, by the Elector 
Maximilian, 1622. The Church of St. Bonifacius is by far 
the finest in Munich , and to me, as yet, in the world. 
When I say the “finest,” I do not mean the richest or hand¬ 
somest, but simply in the best taste, the best adapted for 
Divine worship, with just a sufficient amount of adornment 
to elevate it above an ordinary secular edifice, and yet not 
enough to distract and bewilder the eye. It was founded in 
1835 by King Lewis, in commemoration of the twenty-fifth 
anniversary of his marriage (called in German Silberne Hoch- 
zeit, silver wedding), and finished in 1850. It was built by 
Ziebland, in imitation of a Eoman basilica of the fifth and 
sixth centuries, and shares the palm with St. Paul’s, at 


216 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Rome , which it closely resembles. Eight round arches, rest¬ 
ing on columns, form the portico, the remainder is of red 
brick. The interior is supported by sixty-four beautiful 
monolithic columns of grey Tyrolese marble, dividing it into 
a nave and four aisles. The roof is painted blue, with gold 
stars, and thirty-six exquisite frescoes decorate the upper 
portion of the nave; not so low as to distract the attention 
during Divine service, and not so high as to prevent their 
being 1 well seen when looking upwards. They represent, 
principally, incidents in the life of St. Boniface, and were 
painted by Hess and his pupils. The pulpit is made to move 
backwards and forwards on a small railway, in order that, 
when not required, it may not disturb the general harmony 
by intruding upon the nave. 

Of the other churches, that of St. Lewis, perhaps, comes 
next in point of beauty, built between 1829 and 1843, at a 
cost of £73,000. The style is of that mediaeval Italian, 
called Byzantine, Romanesque, or Lombard. Above the high 
altar is a fine fresco of the Last Judgment, by Cornelius, 
All kinds of decoration, painted sculpture and glass, &c., 
have been lavished on its interior, which is almost too gor¬ 
geous to be pleasing. St. Michael’s, or the Jesuits’, is re¬ 
markable for its spacious interior unsupported by pillars; 
also for a fine monument by Thorwaldsen to Eugene Beau- 
harnais, Duke of Leuchtenberg. On Sundaj' I heard some 
very fine sacred music here. The Theatiner Kirche has a 
striking interior, but is too much overcharged with orna¬ 
mental stucco-work. The little Byzantine chapel of All 
Saints ( AUerheiligenkapelle ), built in 1826 by Klenze, is very 
interesting. The interior is entirely painted in fresco, on a 
gold ground, by Hess and his pupils; pillars of red Salzburg 
marble, with gilt capitals, support tho roof, and the whole 
reminds one of St. Mark’s at Venice, though on a much 
smaller scale and in better taste. The suburb An (to reach 
which one passes beneath the fine old Isar Thor ) boasts the 
pretty little German Gothic church of Maria Hilf, whose 
chief ornaments are nineteen large windows of modern- 
painted glass, containing subjects from the life of the Yirgin, 
the gift of King Lewis the First. 




MUNICH. 


217 


To enumerate all the imposing edifices of Munich would 
be too long a task ; those that interested me beyond all 
others were the Glyptothek and the Pinacothek, and to save 
time I shall copy out my disconnected notes just as they 
stand in my memorandum-book, even at the risk of tiring 
out my reader’s patience. 

Glyptothek ( ykvirroQ , carved; drjicri, repository), classic edi¬ 
fice of Ionic order, erected between 1816 and 1830. Museum 
of sculpture. Colossal Faun, called Barberini, Greek school, 
representing sleeping after a carouse. Disturbed repose 
wonderfully expressed in the position. A very beautiful 
figure, representing one of the sons of Niobe at the moment 
when Apollo is supposed to point towards him his deadly 
arrow; it has lost both head and arms, but the remainder is 
so perfect, the supplicatory expression of the attitude so 
touching, that the imagination readily supplies what is 
wanting. A copy of the Cnidian Venus of Praxiteles, very 
lovely. 

The decorations of the halls are extremely rich, especially 
that called the Roman ; but all in such good taste that the 
primary object is not interfered with. How elegant these 
ceilings are, with the square hollow panels ornamented with 
gilt flowers, bouquets, and various circular devices ! It is 
the style I most admire for churches. 

The parti-coloured statues are very singular—here is a 
beautiful one of Ceres, the head, shoulders, and arms of pure 
white marble; the drapery, flowing gracefully behind, of 
black. There are busts with porphyry heads, verd antique 
drapery, and patches of other marbles in the neck and 
shoulders. Thorwaldsen’s Ado7iis, in the hall of modern 
sculpture, a perfect model of youthful grace and beauty. 
In the JEginetan hall is a very interesting collection of 
statues, all discovered in the island of iEgina, in the year 
1811. Thorwaldsen has skilfully arranged them on two 
marble pediments, in the order in which they are supposed 
to have ornamented a temple of Jupiter. They are of the 
transition period, chiefly the gods and warriors of the Iliad. 
The colour with which they were formerly painted has now 
entirely disappeared. They would have had a place in the 


218 


CONTINENTAL "WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


British Museum but for the mismanagement of our agent, 
who was instructed to offer as high as £8,000, whereas King 
Ludwig stepped in and bought them for £6,000 only. 

Pinacothek , or Picture Gallery {irlva^, a picture ; and 
Qy\ki), repository), a solid, oblong building begun in 1826, 
and opened in 1836. Klenze, architect. (Glyptothek also 
by him.) With the exception of the Dresden Gallery it has 
interested me more than any other. It is beautifully 
arranged for studying the different schools, each being kept 
strictly separate ; in this respect, perhaps second to no other 
gallery on the Continent, but that of Berlin. 

The first apartment after mounting the staircase is a long 
corridor, divided into twenty-five loggie , or compartments, 
ornamented with fresco-paintings,—designed by Cornelius, 
and executed by his scholars, intended to illustrate the 
history of the fine arts during the Middle Ages. Fanciful, 
grotesque, and arabesque borders adorn the walls of each 
room or cabinet, and serve as frames to the paintings, each 
of which elucidates some particular period in the history of 
art, or incidents in the life of some eminent painter. From 
this you pass into the veritable Picture Gallery, and first 
the Old German School. (I go back to my Note-book again.) 
William of Cologne , fourteenth century.—I do think his 
productions surpass even those of his Italian contempo¬ 
raries, Cimabue and Giotto. Some of the figures of saints 
and apostles, on golden backgrounds, are marvellously well 
executed, and comparatively free from the stiffness that 
characterises the works of that age. A pity they have such 
cherry noses and ruby lips, but pass that by, and they are 
really astonishing. “ Head of our Saviour” (black) on the 
white hankerchief of St. Veronica; very fine. Jno. and 
Hubert Van Eyck, discoverers of oil painting.—Their pictures 
are remarkable for great brilliancy of colour. The figures 
are particularly good, especially in “The Adoration of the 
Magi.” Hans Hemling , the next in order, is somewhat in 
the same style; his figures not so graceful, perhaps, but the 
detail in many is exquisite. Schoreel. —“Death of the 
Virgin,” great expression in all the bystanders. A portrait 
of Albert Purer, by himself, in the year 1500, when he was 




MUNICH. 


219 


28 years of age—long golden ringlets ; beautifully executed, 
but what a mane the man had ! His well-known monogram 
M. appears, as usual, in the background. Zeytbloom .— 
‘‘Anthony the Hermit, with his Hog.” What a ridiculous 
affair ! It reminds me of the old woman driving her pig to 
market. Balthasar Benner. —Old women’s heads. What a 
marvellous talent this artist had for old men and women’s 
heads ! I have seen nothing of the kind that approaches at all 
near them. At Vienna were two others even more wonderful 
than these ; every hair and wrinkle is depicted with micro¬ 
scopic minuteness, but so delicately and exactly that the 
whole has a perfectly natural appearance. Bilrer. —St. Peter, 
St. John, St. Paul, and St. Mark, in two panellings; very 
noble figures, especially the last two. 

Dutch and Flemish Schools : Vanderwerff. —“ The Madeleine 
in Meditation.” I had just exclaimed, “What a lovely 
picture ! ” when I caught sight of Sir J. Reynolds’s remarks 
in “ Murray.” Provoking critic that he is, cutting up my 
fine ideas, and twisting them about till they are worth 
nothing at all! But he has taught me something, so I for¬ 
give him. He has taught me to look on a picture not 
so much for its beauty and delicacy of design, or its richness 
of colouring, as to compare it with nature, and see how it 
bears that test, since the object of all art is to imitate her. 
The great fault in the picture before me then is, that the whole 
of the light falls on the figure, scarcely a particle on the sur¬ 
rounding objects; hence, although the figure stands beauti¬ 
fully prominent on the canvas, there is a want of softness in 
the flesh, which appears rather to be of ivory, or plaster, or 
some other hard substance. Nevertheless, Sir Joshua does 
him the justice to say, that for figures and heads and drapery 
few excel him, but that he appears to greater advantage in 
his smaller works, where his chief fault is less conspicuous. 
Teniers’ “Cat and Monkey Parties” are glorious little flights 
of fancy; it is human nature transferred to dumb animals. 
Veen, or Otto Venius, Rubens’s master—six pictures represent¬ 
ing the Triumph of the Catholic Church; soft and soapy; 
outlines too strongly marked, and too much cobalt; figures 
rather stiff. Surely Rubens never took his style from him; 


220 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


no two could be more opposite. Teniers' domestic scenes, 
and parties of merry-making boors are inimitable. I do not 
think any other style of picture gives me so much pleasure. 
You can come back to them again and again, and there is 
always something new to discover. Rembrandt’s style is 
quite unique. Its force consists in admitting but little 
light, and giving to that a wonderful brilliancy. It is very 
effective; but Sir J. Reynolds is right when he says there 
are too many brought together here. “ His peculiarity does 
not come amiss when mixed with the performances of other 
artists of more regular manners. The variety may then 
contribute to relieve the mind, fatigued with regularity.” 
Gerard Dow is good in small pictures and simple subjects ; 
but when he attempts longer and more complex ones, e.g. 
“ The Quack Doctor,” he gets beyond the limits of his skill. 
Rubens —what an extraordinary artist this is ! Is it possible 
he can have painted all, or even half, the pictures attributed 
to him ? Here are two large halls devoted exclusively to 
him, and containing 95 pictures, most of them gigantic com¬ 
positions, with figures the size of life. I thought when I had 
seen the collection in the Louvre I must have seen the bulk of 
them; but here are three times the quantity. At Vienna and 
Dresden he is not badly represented. Berlin has a dozen or 
so. Others have found their way into some of the Italian 
Galleries; and, I suppose his own country will not be with¬ 
out a fair proportion. He must have been greatly assisted 
by his pupils. How else is one to account for it P for I do 
not think he was more than 63 or 64 when he died. His 
great characteristics are boldness and variety of conception, 
combined with a fearless touch and a rich tone of colouring, 
without any great amount of paint. So far as the execution 
goes, his productions are, without a doubt, unapproachable; 
but it is a style I cannot admire. I have no pleasure in 
looking at them ; they are too gross. No one could paint 
flesh like him, and he knew it; but, unfortunately, he was 
too fond of it, and so you never see a lean figure in any of 
his pictures. I do not believe he knew how to draw one. 
They are all gross and fat, unnaturally so sometimes, I fancy. 
A small room full of Vanderwerffs, the author of the 


MUNICH. 


221 


“ Madeleine,” in one of tlie large rooms. The figures are 
very lovely, but the colours too soft and cold. It is a style 
quite peculiar to itself, and therefore the same may be said 
of it as of Rembrandt’s ;—there are too many brought to¬ 
gether. Sir J. Reynolds remarks, of the productions of these 
two artists, that “they tire the spectator for reasons totally 
opposite to each other—the Rembrandts have too much salt, 
and the Vanderwerffs too much water, on neither of which 
we can live.” 

The French Collection is small and poor. 

Spanish Schools. —All I see to interest me here are some 
half-dozen pictures of scenes from the life of the lower 
classes in a Spanish town, by Murillo —little boys and girls 
playing at dice and cards, or eating fruit. All first-rate. 

Italian Schools. —What a striking contrast do these rooms 
present to those of the German school! How totally has the 
style changed ! It is a sudden jump from a northern to a 
southern climate. There all was bustle, life, activity, where 
the subject admitted of it; the colours in landscapes cold, 
in figures blond or ruby; the manner rough and off-hand. 
Here the soft finish, the bronze complexions, the universal 
grace and repose, all speak of the dolce far niente of Italian 
life. There are many works by the first masters, but no capi 
$ opera. Here is a copy of an “ Assumption,” by Guido, the 
original in the Bridgewater Gallery. I never noticed before 
this regularity of composition, which, Sir Joshua says, is a 
great fault in many of his pictures. I mean the equal 
balancing of the figures on each side of the main object. In 
Perugino it is most disagreeable; but Guido’s pieces are 
usually so lovely, and his figures so graceful, that it has 
never struck me before in his works. 

In the late king’s private cabinet are two or three tolerably 
good Raphaels; a portrait of his friend, Bindo Altoniti, the 
very image of himself. In some little side cabinets leading 
from this are a miscellaneous assortment, chiefly Byzantine. 
Giotto shines conspicuously in portraits of saints and apostles, 
on gold backgrounds; but why in the name of goodness 
are they all frowning so ? Probably a severe countenance 
at that time was considered indicative of holiness. Here, 


222 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


too, is a single Salvator Rosa. I could have picked him out 
of a hundred others. I knew his withered bark long before 
I saw the name. 

On the ground floor is a choice collection of drawings, 
engravings, and ancient vases, which I exceedingly regretted 
not being able to see. I had put off the Pinacothek till the 
last day, foolishly supposing five or six hours would suffice 
to see it, when as many days are not more than sufficient. 
I was obliged to give myself one more day, and then I only 
had time to pass hastily over the pictures—four hours one 
day, five the next. 

The new Pinacothek is a building devoted to works of living 
artists. It contains Kaulbach’s gigantic and magnificent 
painting, “The Destruction of Jerusalem;” also Wilkie’s 
“ Reading of the Will.” These are the only two in the whole 
collection that I distinctly remember. There is, by-the-bye, 
one room set apart for a score or so of encaustic paintings, 
by Rothman, being views of historic sites and remarkable 
places in Greece. The general effect was very pretty, from 
a peculiar light thrown in from above. The paintings, as 
works of art, I thought miserable. That of Athens , which 
was the only one I recognised, was particularly bad. 

More of these encaustic paintings are to be seen in the 
New Palace, vastly superior to these, by Hiltensperger , illus¬ 
trating the Odyssey. They have very much the appearance 
of ordinary frescoes, somewhat softer perhaps. The palace 
apartments are magnificent, and almost all decorated either 
with these encaustics or frescoes. One set of rooms is entirely 
devoted to the famous old German legend called the Niebe- 
lungenlied. In the queen’s apartments Schiller’s and Goethe’s 
works are represented; and in a long string of audience and 
banqueting-halls, are scenes from the lives of Charlemagne, 
Frederic Barbarossa, Rudolph of Hapsburg, and two rooms 
for card-playing are adorned with portraits of beautiful 
women of modern times, from the queen to the peasant, 
chiefly Bavarian ; but also a few English, Lola Montes and 
the Countess of Ellenborough among the number. Stieler is 
the artist. The Thronsaal is a splendid hall, supported by 
twelve columns, all white, with gold capitals and ornaments; 



MUNICH. 


223 


between them stand twelve colossal statues, in gilt bronze, 
of princes of the House of Wittelsbach, designed by Schwan- 
tbaler, and cast by Stigelmayer. In fact, the whole palace is 
adorned on the most sumptuous and the richest scale, and 
all in excellent taste. It has, indeed, this great advantage 
over many other royal residences : that, whereas centuries 
have been expended in enriching them,— each monarch 
adding according to his own caprice, until the whole is but 
one mass of inconsistencies,—this is the work of a single 
monarch, renowned for his pure and classic taste, and there¬ 
fore the eye is everywhere pleased and gratified. The Wittels¬ 
bach Palace, where the ex-king now lives, is a handsome 
structure of red brick, in the style of the fourteenth and 
fifteenth centuries, begun in 1844, and not yet finished. 

The Court Theatre is large and handsome. I saw ‘ ‘ Romeo 
and Juliet ” well performed there. Another place that 
interested me very much was the studio of Schwanthaler, 
the great sculptor. lie is now dead, but his pupils still work 
in the room; models of all his principal compositions were 
there, and it was exceedingly interesting to watch the men 
who were busy taking copies of them, and to see the work in 
its various stages. 

I ought to have premised long since that I had every day 
as companion and cicerone a young German student, whose 
acquaintance I made on the way from Tegernsee to Munich. 
He had been spending the vacation in the north of Italy, 
but the rainy weather had driven him home a fortnight 
sooner than he intended, and he was glad enough to get such 
an opportunity of escaping a week’s eunni at home before the 
excitement of the coming term. Apropos of students, I 
should say that they form quite a feature in the town with 
their various coloured caps, the uniform extends no farther, 
unless it be a little ribbon of the same pattern hanging from 
the waistcoat-pocket, but the colours are such that there is 
no mistaking them ; my friend’s, for instance, was scarlet 
and white. There are five different colours, which are 
respectively symbols or badges of a party; the whole body 
of the students (of whom there are about 2,000) is divided 
socially into a certain number of corps , or Verbindungen, as 


224 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


they call them —dubs we might say—and each one on enter¬ 
ing the college attaches himself to one of these, and always 
wears the colour, either in the hat, a hand across the breast, 
or a small ribbon attached to the watch and hanging from 
the waistcoat-pocket. 

With snch a guide I got a much better insight into the life 
of the people than I should otherwise have done. One 
afternoon we strolled out into the suburbs to see the places 
of amusement of the lower classes; such resorts are alike in 
all large continental towns—music, dancing, refreshment, 
and light-heartedness are common to all; beer is the almost 
universal drink, but those excesses which would be of fre¬ 
quent occurrence in London if such places were in vogue, 
are here very, veiy rarely seen; the greatest decency and 
decorum is observed. The distinguishing feature in these 
assemblies at Munich is the singular head-dress of the 
women, called Biegel-Haube , a small plaited bag of gold or 
silver tissue with two points like a swallow’s tail. It is worn 
on the back of the head to enclose the hair, and costs often 
as much as 30 or 40 florins, an extravagant sum for a poor 
peasant, but nothing could be more becoming,—far hand¬ 
somer than the long needle the Roman girls wear,—at all 
events less dangerous. 

I was speaking of beer just now; it is a magic word in 
Bavaria. There is nothing the Munichians are so proud of 
as their bier; they are continually boasting of it, and not 
without reason. I like it far better than any I ever tasted 
in England. But what is sold all over the Continent under 
the name of Bavarian beer is a very different thing from 
what is to be had in Munich, and even there the real beverage 
is only to be had at one particular place, the Hofbrauerei 
(Court Brewery). It is quite an institution in Munich, and 
if I had time I should devote some space to its descrip¬ 
tion, but I must say a few words on the subject. Imagine 
then a long row of dingy low buildings, situated in a neigh¬ 
bourhood of stables, back alleys, and a dirty little stream._ 

in fact, just where you might expect to find a brewery. 
Then conceive a small portion of these same buildings, i.e. 
some half-dozen rooms and a courtyard adjoining, set apart 


MUNICH. 


225 


for the accommodation of strangers. Go there at any hour 
of the day you please, from 8 or 9 o’clock in the morning 
till the same hour at night, and you will witness a scene not 
much unlike the following :—Both the rooms and the yard 
will be filled with men of all ranks and all ages; they are 
seated in groups round old deal boards, and each of them has 
before him a large stone mug with a lid, which from time to 
time he raises to his lips; and as he sets it down again, 
especially if he be an old man of a meditative turn of mind, 
he probably accompanies the action by a smack of the lips 
and a very significant motion of the head. In the centre of this 
sanctuary is the tap-room, where you will constantly see a 
crowd struggling to get to the counter, and with outstretched 
arms thrusting their mugs over one another’s shoulders into 
the face of the tapster, and shouting vociferously, “ Bier ! ” 
He, poor bewildered man, passes the mugs two or three at a 
time to his comrade below, whose sole occupation the live¬ 
long day is to draw ! draw ! draw ! A fresh barrel is tapped 
from every five to ten minutes, i.e. a barrel holding sixty 
quarts; and from seventy to eighty of these are consumed 
daily. Waiters are deemed perfectly superfluous ; every one 
is his own waiter; he takes from the shelf his “mass” or 
quart measure, the only one allowed, rinses it out at an 
ever-running fountain, hands it himself across the bar with 
a piece of 6 kreuzers (2d. of our money) on the top of it and 
when at length his patience is rewarded he carries the foam¬ 
ing bumper in triumph to his seat, like a treasure that it has 
cost much to win. Does hunger require to be satisfied, he 
must himself seek the means ; it will not come by whistling; 
he must go into the cuisine , and receive in propria persona 
from the hands of the cook the wiirstel , the Bindjieisch, or 
Kalbsbraten. Such is the Hofbrauerei , a place to which 
every foreigner, to do Munich justice, ought at least to pay 
one visit. 

Another place well worth seeing is the “royal stables,” 
rivalling in order and cleanliness those of our Queen at 
Buckingham Palace. The name of each horse, his age, his 
colour, and when and where he came from, are written on a 
placard above the stall; and the obliging little groom, as he 

Q 


226 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


walks round with you, narrates the history of many of the 
favourites. 

I forgot, in speaking of works of art, to mention the 
Exhibition of Painting on Glass. The process, however, is- 
not allowed to be seen by strangers, which greatly disap¬ 
pointed me. A few of the finished specimens are shown, and 
they are extremely beautiful. 

One more interesting object I must not omit, and then I 
have done with Munich —I mean the colossal statue of 
Bavaria and the Buhmeshalle (Hall of Fame). The latter is 
an elegant classic building, forming three sides of a quad¬ 
rangle ; colonnades surround it, and beneath them are 
ranged busts, to the number of forty-eight, of those Bava¬ 
rians who have most distinguished themselves in war or 
peace. It stands on a slight eminence outside the town, 
and the Colosse immediately in front of it. This is an enor¬ 
mous figure of bronze 61§ feet high, on a pedestal of 28| 
feet, not quite so high as San Carlo Borromeo , at Arona, but 
holding more than twice as many people in the head, on 
account of her ladyship’s extensive coiffure. Two handsome 
bronze seats, in fact, are constructed there with room for 
eight people comfortably. The head is reached by a well- 
wrought spiral staircase, and a view of Munich is to be had 
through the eyes of the figure. 

To come back to the city again : I remember one thing I 
have omitted to mention—the Englischer Garten , said to be 
the best imitation of an English garden on the Continent. 
I think it is the best public promenade I have seen; it 
resembles rather a nobleman’s park, however, with an 
artificial stream and cascades. 

The Baierisher Hof, which I made my quarters, is, I 
believe, by far the best hotel in Munich. Centrally situated, 
charges moderate, attendance prompt, clean, upwards of 
two hundred beds, excellent tables d’hote at 1 and 5 o’clock, 
(at each of which seldom fewer than one hundred people), 
magnificent salon, and music twice a week. Such are its 
recommendations. I slept the first night at “ Caffeehaus 
Schafrothf Dienersgasse, a clean and respectable place, but 
so full that I was obliged to be contented with a small back 


THE TYROL. 


227 


room, overlooking a blacksmith’s forge, which woke me np 
with such a deafening noise at 5 o’clock in the morning, 
that I was forced to seek more peaceable quarters. 

I left Munchen at 5 P.M., on Tuesday, August 25. For the 
remainder of my tour through the Tyrol, to save what might 
possibly be considered a wearisome description, I shall simply 
copy out verbatim the notes by the way-side, which are suffi¬ 
ciently copious, interposing here and there a sentence, 
perhaps, just to carry on the narrative. 


CHAPTEK XVIII. 

THE TYROL :—BERCHTESGADEN, SALZBURG, AND WILDBAD 

GASTEIN. 

August 2 5th .—A monotonous post-ride of seven hours to 
Rosenheim, arriving at midnight. We started, three Eilwa- 
gens in company, a protection against robbers probably, as 
two would have been more than sufficient for the number of 
passengers ; as a great favour, and through the complaisance 
of the post-master, I had the interior of one of them to my¬ 
self. The road ran across the centre of the great Bavarian 
plain. The sunset, looking back towards Munich, was 
superb, the horizon one unspotted sweep of deep crimson, 
gradually diminishing in tone until it finally lost itself in 
the pale azure sky. For many miles nothing was to be seen 
but this vast plain, and, as night came on, a sky overhead 
studded with myriads of stars. My thoughts flew across to 
the caravans and deserts of Syria, and I was still in the 
East, when the vehicle suddenly came to a stop, and a fierce- 
looking head showed itself at the window, and informed me 
that, if I intended to sup, now was the chance, as there would 
be a rest of twenty minutes. 

In the common room of the little inn where we had 
halted was the usual crowd of the lower orders. Choosing 
the table where the “cream” of the assembly seemed to have 
got together, I despatched with all haste the universal 



228 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


supper—soup and roast veal, with the favourite relish of cold 
boiled potatoes cut in slices and saturated with vinegar—a 
nice meal to go to bed upon ; but you seldom get anything 
else unless it is ordered beforehand. At the Post at Rosen¬ 
heim rooms were scarce, and I thought myself well off in 
having to share one with only another gentleman; it was 
but for half a night, so it little mattered. 

August 2 6th. —At 9 A.M., start from Rosenheim alone, a 
lovely, clear day, and gentle breeze. Pour hours’ smart 
walking brings me to Prien , near the Chiemsee. Avoiding 
the high road, my path lay, for the first five or six miles, 
across fields of clover, corn, and flax, which latter is very 
extensively cultivated throughout Bavaria. It is nearly all 
cut now, and attached to a number of tall stakes, the seed 
hanging down, the stalks tied in a bunch at the top, giving 
one the idea, at a short distance, of a field full of dancing 
bears, or Dominican friars; then I passed through a suc¬ 
cession of umbrageous fir-copses, and then over a gentle 
eminence that allows a charming view of the great Bavarian 
plain. 

At Prien I dined, then crossed the Chiemsee —the largest, 
but not the most picturesque, of the Bavarian lakes—in a 
steamer, and from there, by Stellwagen, to Traunsteim , a 
town of 4,000 inhabitants, and celebrated, like Rosenheim, 
for its salt works. Here I stay the night. 

August 21th. —Start at 7 a.m., determined to get over 
thirty-three miles of ground on foot before sunset. Here, in 
Reichenhall , by 2 o’clock., I have already accomplished 
twenty-two of them; and if I leave again at 3, I don’t know 
what should deter me from reaching the fairyland of Berchtes- 
gaden by 6. 

I have again passed through one of the finest of the Alpine, 
gorges. It commences immediately after leaving the little 
village of Suzell , about half way between this and Traunstein . 
It is not so narrow or gloomy as the Via Mala, but the 
cliffs in many places are almost equally wil 1 and abrupt. 
The Traun winds along like a silver ribbon, confined be¬ 
tween walls of rock, at a depth beneath the road that 
makes one giddy to contemplate. 


THE TYROL. 


229 


A singular sight here was the double line of pipes for 
conveying the brine from Reichenhall to Traunstein and 
Rosenheim; they are frequently carried along the per¬ 
pendicular face of the mountain, at a considerable height 
above the road, the salt water being raised by hydraulic 
machines constructed by the engineer Reichenbach. 

An hour before reaching Reichenhall , the road skirts a 
pretty little tarn called the Thumsell ; in a brook running 
into it I saw a large shoal of trout, some of them of con¬ 
siderable size. Reichenhall itself is a cheerful-looking little 
town of about 3,000 inhabitants. Its salt-works, I under¬ 
stood, are worth a visit, but as I hoped to see better at Berch- 
tesgaden , or Hallein , I did not let them detain me, simply 
taking a light refreshment and starting off immediately 
after, eleven more miles, passing through the Hallthiirm, 
a small Gothic archway, and the entrance to another beau¬ 
tiful Alpine pass. A succession of irregular paths, which 1 
had not calculated on, made it a quarter to 7 instead of f 
o’clock before I reached Berchtesgaden, having accomplished 
my thirty-three miles in less than twelve hours including a 
rest on the way of an hour and a half, and suffering only 
with a slight soreness of foot, which a warm bath and a 
night’s rest entirely dissipated. 

I must just notice the bath—it was so original. I thought 
to have found one at the hotel, but they directed me to the 
village establishment close by. I rather surprised the lady 
proprietress, by telling her I must have it directly, for the 
place was a little out of order. I was shown into a small room, 
just big enough to turn round in, an elliptical wooden tub 
occupying half the space, and above it a couple of wooden 
spouts for hot and cold water; but they would not act, so the 
poor old lady was obliged to fill it herself, running back¬ 
wards and forwards twenty or thirty times from the pump 
to the tub with an unmanageable wooden basin. I pitied 
her, but at the moment I was less capable of the work than 
she, so I bid her leave off when it was half full. She then 
furnished me with towels, soap, and comb, and after all this 
trouble only asked 12 kreuzers (4 d.) 

August 28^.—To-day I have seen, to mo, a veritable 


230 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


marvel—the salt mines, the first of any kind I ever visited. 
My guide must have thought me crazy, as I kept venting 
my astonishment in a language that, to him, was more bar¬ 
barous probably than his to me. Miles upon miles of nar¬ 
row passages bored through the solid crystallised salt rock, 
and branching off in a hundred different directions, the 
larger “ways” furnished with a tram-line, on which the 
salt-stone is conveyed in small waggons from the spot where 
it is blasted to one of the five mouths of the mine; for, 
being worked from the side of the mountain, it has the 
advantage of being entered horizontally, instead of per¬ 
pendicularly. Here it is bought and carried off by the large 
proprietors of Rosenheim, Traunstein , Reichenhall , and other 
places, where it is purified and rendered fit for use. On 
these rails are also diminutive velocipedes, for carrying visi¬ 
tors quickly from one part to another, which go almost with 
the speed of a railway train. Near the centre of the mine 
is a charming little grotto, made of small pieces of rock- 
salt of every shade and tint, fantastically arranged, and 
interspersed with the rarer crystal-salt; the whole illumined 
by several lamps, and sparkling most brilliantly. There 
was an outer and an inner grotto, a little jet d’eau of brine 
giving life to the latter. It contains 26f per cent, of salt, 
a greater per-centage I believe than in any other mine in 
Europe. The salt is to the taste incrediblypowerful. The great 
wonder of the mine is what is called the sink-work. This 
is an enormous cavern, which the brine from time to time is 
allowed to fill. The great proportion of salt fastens to the 
rock salt; the water is then let off, and the loose salt col¬ 
lected and sent to the boilers to purify. This was what I 
understood from the man’s rigmarole description, but he 
spoke such barbarous German, that I may not entirely have 
comprehended him. There are two of these caves; one is 
kept solely for visitors, but has been out of use for several 
years ; the descent to it is facilitated by a kind of wooden 
railway, on a steep inclined plane. On this the guide takes 
his seat, placing his feet in a couple of ledges, one on each 
side, holding firm to a rope with the right hand, and having 
in the left a lantern. You imitate him, and down you slide, 


THE TYROL. 


231 


one behind the other, at a pace that almost takes away the 
breath. I should have mentioned, at the outset, that you 
are obliged to rig yourself out in a suit of miner’s clothes, 
dark blue jacket and trousers of stout cloth, a broad leather 
girdle round the waist for the slide, a thick glove for the 
rope, and a stiff wide-awake to resist sundry gratings from 
sharp crystals, and so forth, in the low galleries. The sides 
of this cavern are composed of the hardest rock-salt, in a 
great many different colours, but all pure salt—the red and 
the grey, he said, were the best. The other sink was less 
easy of descent; it is seldom shown to strangers, and it was 
only with the promise of an extra fee that the guide would 
conduct me there. We had to go almost on “all fours,” 
with lanterns in our hands, down a steep, narrow, duty 
passage, until we came out into an immense circular cave, 
where we could barely stand upright, and where the gloom 
prevented us from seeing its extent, although he assured me 
it was twice the size of the other. The brine had not long 
since passed through it, and by way of a souvenir had left 
the ground covered with a mass of little bristling thorny 
crystals of a brownish colour, and very fragile, crackling 
under our feet at every step ; but so wet and loose was the 
briny matter to which they were attached, that I did not 
care to go far. The man robbed the grotto of two very good 
specimens of these crystals, to give me; and from another 
part, where the men were at work, I got a small piece of the 
hard rock-salt combining most of the colours, and a bit of 
pure white crystal into the bargain. I spent upwards of an 
hour and a half in this extraordinary place, and then had 
only seen a small portion of it: they say it would require 
some days to traverse all the passages. The change on 
coming out into the sun, from the cold, damp, underground 
air, was rather more than I had calculated on, and brought 
on a cold in the head, which annoyed me for some days 
after. 

About 2 o’clock in the afternoon it began raining in 
torrents, keeping me in-doors the remainder of the day. The 
confinement gave me an opportunity, however, of rendering 
a little service I should otherwise have missed. One of 


232 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


the hotel coachmen came to me in great difficulty, beg¬ 
ging I would act as interpreter between him and three 
English ladies, to whom he had in vain endeavoured to un¬ 
fold a benevolent design he had been concocting on their 
behalf; it was this :—In the morning he had driven the 
husband of one of them, a clergyman, with two sisters of 
the other, to the Konigssel; they had intended walking 
home, but were no doubt detained by the rain. He simply 
wanted to know whether he might be allowed to go and 
fetch them in a covered carriage. “To be sure he might, 
good man; ” such an act of thoughtfulness they could not 
but willingly comply with; and so, after desiring me to im¬ 
press it strongly upon him that he was to be sure and bring 
the right party, and, in order that there might be no mistake, 
giving the poor fellow the name written in English charac¬ 
ters (which of course was perfectly unintelligible to him) 
that he might know whom to ask for, he was at length dis¬ 
missed, and the interpreter, finding he was in the bed-room 
instead of the sitting-room, took his departure at the same 
time. 

August 29th .—Having sent my baggage and money direct 
from Munich to Salzburg , necessity impels me there this morn¬ 
ing. I intended to walk, but the last two days have 
worn out the soles of my shoes, and so driven me to the 
Stellwagen , where I enjoyed the luxury of a few hours’ con¬ 
versation in my own language—what a treat it was, and how 
little peace did I allow for the next five hours to the two 
young Scotchmen I was so fortunate as to meet! They were 
brothers, and I now blame myself sincerely for not going on 
with them to Ischel, though at a little inconvenience, where 
they intended to pass the Sunday quietly. Three hours 
brought us from Berchtesgaden to Salzburg, we breakfasted 
together off chamois and eggs at the hotel Zu den drei 
Alliretn, and they left soon after 11. The remainder of 
the day I spent with a young German in examining what 
was to be seen in the town, and that is not much. 

The Duomo is a large solid structure in the Italian style, 
but the interior is wretched ; the bells of one of the churches 
play twelve different airs three times a day, 7 a.m., 11 a.m., 


4 


THE TYROL. 


233 


and 6 p.m. The house where Mozart was born is iust 

%/ 

opposite the above-mentioned hotel, where I am staying. 

But Salzburg in itself, in my humble opinion, is a very 
inferior town to Innsbruck. That it is finely situated no one 
can deny; and that the old fortress rising above it, ugly 
though it be, helps to give it in the distance a stately and 
romantic appearance, must also be admitted; but the hills 
are too distant, and the intervening country is too uninterest¬ 
ing to entitle it to rank above Innsbruck as far as position 
goes, though it may perhaps come next—the superiority of 
the latter town, with its monumental church, its museum, 
and its handsome streets and gardens, is abundantly mani¬ 
fest. In the afternoon we walked out to the Palace of 
Hettbrunn , about three miles distant, to see the artificial 
waterworks. A stream of water, intersecting the gardens in 
every direction, had been turned to all sorts of purposes. In 
one part, for example, a kind of stage had been erected, and 
on it a hundred or more little wooden figures, all set in 
motion by the water, and representing almost every phase of 
a bustling town life. It was curious, but a very childish 
ornament for a nobleman’s residence, and so at length pro¬ 
bably he himself thought, whoever he may have been; for it 
appears now to be turned into a Caffee and Bier-haus, these 
toys simply remaining as a “ draw.” 

August 30 th. —A lovely, but intensely hot day. Spent the 
morning quietly alone on the Capuciner Mount beneath the 
friendly shelter of a hazle-wood—the afternoon writing. 

August 31s£.—To stay long in a town situated in a country 
like this is a positive crime. Up on to the hills, you strip¬ 
lings ! and do credit while yet you can to your youthful 
bones and muscles. Up with you, up ! and so in pursuance 
of this sage advice, throwing my little knapsack over my 
shoulder, and grasping firmly my trusty pilgrim’s staff, at 
7 o’clock forth, forth over the Salza Bridge and along 
the road to Aigen, a chateau belonging to the Prince 
Swarzenberg. The gardens and park accord exactly with 
my taste. Their position up a mountain’s slope, affording 
one hundred enchanting views, is not their only charm ; it 
is that nature is their architect, and nature in some of her 


234 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


loveliest and most graceful forms. All but a few flower¬ 
beds, and a series of semi-artificial waterfalls, all is nature— 
nature’s shrubberies and nature’s grottoes, where “fairies 
once their nightly revels held,” until man with his grosser 
form appeared, and scared them away. 

With the liberality common to most Continental noble¬ 
men, these estates are thrown open to all the world; the 
gates are always on the latch, you walk in, go where you 
will, leave when and by what gate you please, and say 
“nothing to nobody”— i.e ., since two negatives make an 
affirmative; but you will probably engage the assistance 
of a gardener, as I did, to help you out of a bewildering 
labyrinth of shrubberies and footpaths, and direct to the 
gate which puts you again on the right way. Mine lay up 
the Oaisherg, 4,000 feet high, a tolerably easy path and an 
affair of two hours. Blackberry bushes abounded, and I 
depopulated not a few of them. On the last slope of the hill 
grasshoppers of Brobdignagian dimensions swarmed. I 
caught one two inches long, with a body as thick as my 
little finger, colour bright green. A kind of locusts, too— 
Heuschrecke the Germans call them—abound; they are rather 
more than an inch long, black when on the ground, but 
when flying their wings are bright scarlet, and make a noise 
like a child’s rattle; they are common throughout the Tyrol. 
Ten o’clock saw me on the summit, which being a flat table¬ 
land of considerable extent, one must mount to the top of a 
little house erected on purpose, in order to take in at once 
the whole panorama—and what a panorama ! Never before 
have I seen one of so great a variety, or on such a scale of 
grandeur and magnificence. One half of the circle is occupied 
by the whole northern range of Tyrolean Alps rising one 
above another in endless varieties of form and colour—the 
other half embraces the vast plain of Bavaria, thickly dotted 
over with woods, corn fields, and villages, and seven blue lakes 
glistening in the sunshine; with a clear atmosphere all are 
distinctly visible, but a provoking mist prevented us from 
seeing beyond the fifth; the other two were left to our 
imagination. And then the fairy town in the valley below 
watered by a silvery stream, and standing out pre-eminently 


THE TYROL. 


235 


bright and beautiful in the midst of a carpet of green and 
gold. How different does the same object look when viewed 
from different aspects ! I half repent of what I before said 
when comparing it with Innsbruck, so lovely and majestic 
does the little city now appear. Four hours more brought 
me to Hallein, where are salt-mines more extensive than 
those at Berchtesgaden, but not so rich. I had no desire to see 
them, suffering still from the cold caught in the others, 
so I passed straight through, stopping only ten minutes to 
recruit and drink a glass of beer. In another three hours I 
was at Oolling, where I slept. I had walked nearly thirty- 
five miles, including the ascent of the Gaisberg, without feel¬ 
ing the least inconvenience of any kind, unless an unusually 
keen appetite may be considered as such. 

September ls£.—Two more of nature’s wonders have I seen 
this morning. The first was the pretty little waterfall of 
the Schwarzbach (black brook) pouring itself out of the 
thickly wooded flanks of the Hohe Gobi, descending in two 
shoots a height of 300 feet, and passing under an extra¬ 
ordinary natural bridge of rocks. A waterfall of a less 
agreeable nature prevented me from staying to examine and 
admire it as long as I could have wished, and reluctantly 
quitting it, I followed the course of the stream rushing 
madly in and out the huge moss-covered boulders that lay 
in its way, and in less than half an hour I regained the inn 
where I had passed the night; a glass of schapps (rustic 
brandy) to “ keep out the cold,” and the discovery of a speck 
of blue sky overhead, set me on the road again. 

The second wonder was the Oefen (caldrons) of the Scdza. 
A pathway on the right-hand side of the road, about two 
miles from Golling , leads to them, zig-zagging down the 
precipitous side of a deep rocky gorge, through which the 
Saha runs, and gradually unfolding to the view a scene of 
the most savage grandeur, infernal I had well-nigh said. 
Gigantic fragments of stone evidently have fallen from both 
sides of the ravine into the river, contracting its bed to what 
appears a very uncomfortable extent; others seem to have 
met before they could reach the bottom, and to have formed 
themselves into a series of hideous caverns and arches, con- 


236 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


cealing the river from sight. Yet, in spite of all this tight 
lacing, the little coquette goes on her course as merry and 
joyous as ever, sparkling and laughing from a thousand eyes 
as she flirts with each rock that besets her, and then, as if 
tired of the sport, suddenly quits her admirers, assumes an 
air of repentance, and passes with modest respectful gait 
before Salzburg, queen of the valley. 

Eleven A.M. While Uncle M. is shooting his partridges, 
I am shooting along the famous pass of Lueg at a pace of 
four miles an hour, a highly romantic defile, and so con¬ 
tracted by the precipices of the Goll on the one side, and of 
the Tannen-Gebirge on the other, as to leave barely room for 
the road by the side of the river. It is celebrated as the 
scene of more than one bloody struggle during the war of 
independence. The Austrians have now built small forts 
on each side of its mouth, thereby rendering it impreg¬ 
nable. 

In proceeding farther along the Pass, I heard from time 
to time rumblings overhead, which for a long while I could in 
no way account for. I at first attributed the noise to thunder, 
and yet saw no clouds. At length, on looking closely into the 
pine forests that clothed the mountains to their summits, I 
soon discovered the cause. Large logs of timber were being 
precipitated by the wood-cutters from a great height down 
fissures and crevices in the rocks, leaping from one side to 
the other, and finally plunging into the river when there 
was no sufficient obstacle in the way. A bumping, thump¬ 
ing noise, and a splash, and there the fine fellow lies, and 
then floats away at his ease for miles along the stream until 
he reaches the harbour his owner has prepared to receive 
him. And so thousands of trees are yearly felled, and for¬ 
warded to their destination. At the farther extremity of 
the Pass, and elevated 350 feet above the Salza, rises the 
Castle of Hohenwerjin , in ancient times the feudal stronghold 
of the Archbishops of Salzburg, now converted into a bar¬ 
rack. Desperate tyrants were those Archbishops of Salzburg, 
and many a Protestant martyr has been tortured within 
those gloomy towers, and buried alive, as it were, in dungeons 
which are said to resemble draw-wells rather than habitable 


THE TYROL. 


237 


chambers. In the beginning of the last century, an Arch¬ 
bishop Firmian consigned his name to infamy, and himself 
probably to future torment, by a series of the most atrocious 
and cruel acts towards the Protestants of the neighbour¬ 
ing valleys, who at length, to the number of 30,000, left 
their country and their homes rather than abandon their 
faith. In a village near is still shown the little country 
ale-house, where the leaders met to take an oath which 
should cement the union among themselves, and strengthen 
their adherence to their faith. ‘ ‘ As they swore never to 
forsake their principles, each of them swallowed a morsel 
of salt from the salt-cellar placed on the table before 
them, a ceremony originating either in allusion to the name 
of the country, or perhaps with reference to the text from 
the Bible, ‘ Ye are the salt of the earth.’ (See also Lev. 
ii. 13 ; Num. xviii. 19 ; 2 Chron. xiii. 5. Salt was used as an 
emblem that the covenant was perpetual and incorruptible.) 
Hence the covenant is known as the Salzbund .” 

And now, having passed through the village of Werfen, 
and tested the correctness of “ Murray’s” assertion that the 
Post is dear and dirty, I mount a little hill by the side of 
this road, seat myself on a rustic bench, and take out my 
memo-book. A beautiful little red squirrel, with a tail as 
long again as himself, has just popped down from a fir-tree 
to see what I am about; he places himself a couple of yards 
in front of me, sets his little head knowingly on one side, 
watches me intently for a few seconds, and now, with two 
bounds, has cleared a low railing, and is out of sight. The' 
proud old castle chokes up the end of the valley, and facing 
me are the gigantic precipices of the Tannengebirge, fifteen 
miles in length, their hoary peaks piercing the blue sky, and 
forming a singular contrast to the dark green pines whence 
they spring. How noble, how majestic they are ! I can 
hardly keep my eyes away from them. Pity with me the 
poor creatures who, either on account of ill-health, indo¬ 
lence, fear, or ignorance of the language, shut themselves 
up in diligences and carriages, and delude themselves into the 
idea that they are seeing and enjoying nature ! 

September 2nd. —Slept last night at Sand Joliann, and start 


238 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


again tliis morning at half-past 6, for Bad Gastein, passing 
through Send and Hof Gastein ; just before reaching Send , 
the river Ache throws itself, in a succession of pretty cas¬ 
cades, into the Salza. After passing Send comes a very 
steep ascent, and then *the wonderful pass called Die 
Klamme. In some parts it is even more extraordinary than 
the Via Mala , especially one long semicircular row of cliffs, 
a tremendous height, quite perpendicular, and looking like 
a solid wall of masonry. On the side of the road, huge 
masses of impending rock look every moment as though 
they would come toppling down on one’s head; and at a depth 
of two or three hundred feet below, the little Ache rushes 
impetuously along. The scene on leaving this is a total 
change : a long valley opens out, its sides formed by richly 
verdured hills, and its fields almost all hay-fields—little 
else seems to be cultivated. The hay, instead of being built 
up into ricks, is stowed away in small wooden huts, of 
which there are so many that before you get really among 
them the valley appears doubly populated. 

When Hof Gastein is passed, a fine chain of snow-clad 
• mountains terminates the view at the end of the valley, 
leaving only a narrow passage to the right, in which lies 
Gastein Wildbad, as it is called; and wild enough, as to situ¬ 
ation, is it. Between thirty and forty large white houses 
are built on the sides of a deep ravine, through which the 
Ache pours itself in a superb cascade, with a roar like 
thunder. A bridge, covered with glass, that the invalids 
may enjoy the sight and escape the spray, is constructed 
across the torrent at a convenient height. It is very much 
frequented by people from all parts of Germany, and even 
from England; upwards of one hundred English had been 
there this year, I understood, to derive benefit from its 
waters, independently of passing tourists. The springs, 
which are close to the houses, have a temperature of about 
98 p Fahrenheit. Their efficacy no one can account for, as the 
amount of salt they contain is perfectly insignificant. 

I had here such accounts of the beauty of the neighbour¬ 
ing mountains, that in five minutes I had decided to put 
them to the proof, especially as the Gross Glockner , with its 


THE TYROL. 


239 


glaciers, was among the number. But then for this a guide 
was necessary; guides will not come without money, and I 
had but a very small supply, haying planned out, on leaving 
Salzburg , a tour of four or five days at the most. My mind 
was made up instantly. I would return early the following 
morning, by Eilwagen , the best class of diligence, to Salz¬ 
burg, send my effects on to Linz, reserving a sufficient supply 
both of clothes and money, for ten days, in which time I 
proposed to make the tour of these fine mountain giants, 
passing again through Gastein, from another direction, and 
then the romantic Salzkammergut to Linz. In this way I 
should see almost all the interesting parts of North Tyrol 
In three days I had walked eighty-seven miles, including 
the ascent of the Gaisberg, with perfect comfort, and my ex¬ 
penses had been less than four shillings a day. This is quite 
sufficient for a pedestrian, when he can dispense with a 
guide; in many parts it is even extravagant; but when 
. guides are necessary it becomes trebled. 

After a month’s experience I feel justified in making the 
following remarks on what should be the modus operandi of 
a pedestrian, as applied to the Tyrol of course, and pro¬ 
vided always weather and circumstances permit. September 
is the best month ; the atmosphere is generally clearer than 
in the height of summer, and the heat not so oppressive. 
Guides are only very rarely necessary to one who can speak 
the language. Let him buy Baedeker’s small German guide¬ 
book (which may also be had in English or French) and a 
good pocket map, with all the footpaths and small villages - 
clearly marked. For linen, one change is sufficient, as you 
may have anything washed in a night, and a flannel shirt is 
better in every way than a cotton one. A small black reise- 
tasche, slung by a broad worsted band across the shoulder, is 
less fatiguing than a knapsack, and quite large enough for 
the purpose. Thick woollen socks, and a large pair of boots 
or shoes, elastic sides, with double upper-leather and half¬ 
inch soles well pierced with nails are indispensable ; a warm 
plaid for the cold mountain air and the morning and eve¬ 
ning fogs that sometimes hang about the lakes, and a stout 
walking stick. Thus furnished, any one in a moderately 


240 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


robust state of health, may, with perfect ease, walk from 
twenty-five to thirty miles a day for a month together. 

And this should be the order of the day:— Rise at 5, 
breakfast at half-past, start at 6. For breakfast, a cup of 
coffee and small roll. At 9, rest a quarter of an hour at 
some ale-house, and drink a glass of beer. At half¬ 
past 11, or 12, according to circumstances, midday halt, 
dine, and rest till 3, and reach night quarters by 6 or 
7, sup and go to bed at 10. Of course the hours can¬ 
not always be so exactly met; the villages and towns will 
not always fall just where you want them; but if your taste 
is not too delicate, there are plenty of little road-side public- 
houses all over the Tyrol, where boiled-beef and pancakes 
are always to be had about the middle of the day; and as 
you will probably choose the towns or larger villages for 
your night-quarters, you can there appease your outraged 
palate with delicacies. Of course the distances of each day 
will vary according to the ground you have to travel over, 
or the place to be reached by night; but, following the plan 
I have laid down, it will be from five-and-twenty to five-and- 
thirty miles; it need never vary more than that, giving an 
average therefore of thirty miles. On the high roads, I 
seldom walked less than three and a half miles an hour. I 
found a slower pace more fatiguing. 

September 3rd .—Fourteen hours’ post to Salzburg, starting 
at 5 A.M., going over again precisely the way I had come, 
with the exception of a few little detours. My experience of 
the last three days had given me such an abhorrence of 
carriages by the contrast, that I should have found this 
dreadfully tedious but for some very agreeable fellow- 
travellers. In the carriage with me were a fine old German 
professor of the Dr. Syntax type, and two other gentlemen, 
all full of conversation. In the other vehicle was a Polish 
lady with an extraordinary little girl about ten years old, a 
native of Finland, but speaking five or six different languages. 
The lady spoke good French, and favoured me with little 
bits of her history from time to time, when we stopped. Her 
husband had been in the Russian service during the last war, 
and was obliged to flee for some place on the Baltic where 


THE TYEOL. 


241 


he was stationed, finding the cannonading of our vessels 
rather too hot to be pleasant. She had been a great invalid 
during some years past, and her life was despaired of by a 
fabulous number of doctors, until one who knew better 
than all the rest made his appearance, and said the only 
chance of recovery was to take a course of baths at Gastein; 
seven long days of posting brought her from St. Petersburg 
to Wildbad, during which she was always obliged to be 
lifted in and out of the carriage. A course of twenty-one 
baths enabled her to walk with ease,—that was last summer; 
this summer she has returned and taken twenty-five more, 
which have apparently quite restored her. 

At Werfen, where we dined, two young Italians joined us, 
brothers; the elder, who had lived four months in London 
and Brighton as a composer of music, conversed fluently in 
English. He had just made almost the identical trip I proposed 
for myself, and spoke in such admiration of the scenery that 
I longed to be on the road. Accordingly, the next morning, 

September 4th, I provided myself in Salzburg with a thick 
warm plaid, a stout pair of mountain boots, little “ barges ” 
let me rather call them, a good map of the country, and the 
famous German guide-book of Badeker. “Murray” is too 
cumbersome for a pedestrian ; Badeker is much more concise, 
and at the same time full of the smallest particulars, but, 
with all the constantly recurring words and expressions, so 
abridged that in two hundred pages there is probably more 
really serviceable matter than in “Murray’s” five or six 
hundred. 

At half-past 2, then, with just as much linen as I could 
conveniently cram into my little knapsack and sling over 
my shoulder, my plaid across my left arm, and my trusty 
horn-hooked stick in my right hand, I take my place in the 
Stellwagen for Berchtesgaden. But oh, sad omen ! we are not 
ten minutes on the road before down comes the rain in 
torrents. In one corner of the vehicle an enormously stout 
brewer is snoring out a fitting accompaniment to the storm, 
and at the other a venerable old priest is saying doleful 
things of times gone by to a pair of Bussian gentlemen, who 
in return speak to him but of two years ago, talking naughtily 

li 



242 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


of the English. Between such opposing fires, believe me, I 
was glad to find myself once more in the hotel zum Watz- 
mann, and to meet there one of the Germans who had come 
with me in the Eilwagen from Gastein. He was a most 
obliging fellow, gave me all kinds of information for my 
tour, and tried to find me a companion, but without success. 

I never feel dull or lonely, however, among the beauties of 
nature, and here in a supreme degree has the Creator 
lavished on her his bounties. Besides, I am never long 
without some one to speak with. The peasants in the fields 
or by the roadsides are my companions, and at the little 
country inns travellers of some kind or other are constantly 
to be met, always glad of the opportunity of chatting with 
an Englishman, listening to the relation of his travels, 
and telling him in return of the marvels he has yet to see. 
Am I detained by the weather, and does the time begin 
to hang heavily P I make a voyage of discovery perhaps 
about the house—these country inns are generally more 
extensive establishments than with us, and there is always 
something to be learnt from them. My first steps, for 
example, are directed kitchenwards; this is the point from 
which all else radiates, the pivot that sets the whole ma¬ 
chinery in motion, for the stomach is one of the great deities 
of the German people; my acquaintance with the cook is 
soon established, and in a short time, if she be a good- 
tempered one, my acquaintance also with the names and uses 
of the utensils at her disposal is on an equally satisfactory 
footing. The next expedition, perhaps, is to the wash¬ 
house, where on certain days of the week, a little troop of 
bare-armed, bare-footed damsels are always to be found, up 
to their elbows in work. Apropos of dull weather, I admire 
the cheerful fire, heap on the wood to make it yet more 
so, and inform myself of the details of their occupation. 
What a pleasure it is to be able to speak the language ! 
and with what satisfaction do I look back on those toilsome 
hours spent in acquiring it! I little thought they would so 
soon find their reward. 

Sept. 5th .—Weather still unpropitious ; notwithstanding, 
soon after 8 o’clock I set out for the renowned Konigssee, 


THE TYEOL. 


243 


which, the rain alone had prevented me from seeing when I 
was previously at Berclitesgaden . 

An hour’s rapid walking through the midst of the most 
enchanting mountain scenery brings me to the little inn and 
boat-house on its northern shore. Here I meet a very 
agreeable young Bavarian, with whom I had spoken a word 
or two on the previous evening, and we agree to take a boat 
together. 

The Konigssee (King’s Lake) is the most romantic lake in 
all Germany, and perhaps for solemn grandeur is scarcely 
equalled by any other in the whole world. Imagine a 
piece of water about five miles long by a mile broad, 
elevated more than 2,000 feet above the level of the sea, 
completely shut in by mountains averaging from 5,000 to 
8,000 feet high, their speckled grey heads reared high above 
the clouds, and their pine-clad breasts descending almost 
perpendicularly to the water’s edge, and leaving not the 
smallest appearance of a beach. The water is clear as crystal, 
and of the deepest green hue, so that, when the sun at length 
showed himself favourable to our wishes, we could see all 
above so distinctly reflected—trees, rocks, and sky—that the 
finest glass mirror could not have been more deceptive. 
About half way up the lake we fired a pistol to hear the 
echo. First there was the report of the pistol, then a noise 
like a tremendous clap of thunder on one side, and about 
eight seconds after the same peal taken up on the opposite 
side, and rolled along the tops of the mountains as it were, 
gradually losing power, but bursting out afresh every now 
and then as some lofty peak intervened, until at length it 
became swallowed up in the distance, lasting altogether 
fully thirty seconds. A little further on, we landed to see a 
deep fissure in the rocks, with two pretty little waterfalls, 
and a mock hermitage. At the south-east angle of the lake, 
the lofty marble wall of hills recedes to a considerable dis¬ 
tance, enclosing another small lake, called the Obersee, looking, 
if possible, even more wild and solitary than the Konigssee , 
and separated from it only by a narrow strip of land, strewn 
with an infinity of moss-covered stones, that seem, at some 
distant period, to have been shot out from the sides of the 


244 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


surrounding cliffs, like so many bullets from a pistol. This 
part is called the Saletalp. Here is the description of it 
literally translated from my German guide :—“ The Saletalp , 
an out of scattered moss-and-grass-begrown limestone-frag¬ 
ments,—consisting ten minutes broad isthmus, separates it 
(the Konigssee ) from the half-stund-long solitary of high 
steep,—ascending marble-walls’ enclosed bright green Obersee. 
Only the murmuring of the waterfall, and sometimes the 
piping of the marmot, here menkel called, interrupts the 
sublime repose of this savage neighbourhood, on whose cliffs 
and snow-bedecked summits eagles and chamois house.” 
This is word for word. I hope you admire the position of the 
nouns; and were I to give a specimen of the way in which 
the Germans play with their verbs sometimes, I expect your 
admiration would be increased, and your desire to study the 
language probably just the opposite. I met with a paragraph 
to-day, for instance, in a little book describing the Harz 
mountains, in which the verb whereon the whole of the 
sentence depended, occurred fifteen lines below its nomina¬ 
tive : there’s a language that obliges you to retain in your 
head fifteen lines before you know what the aim of it all is ! 
But that is its beauty and strength; and it is just for this 
reason that the more I know the more I admire it; but this 
is no reason, by-the-bye, that I should forget where I am, 
viz. between the Ober and the Konigssee. 

In another half hour, rowing back, we were at St. Bar- 
tholoma, a small chateau with two or three houses standing 
on a lovely little bit of bright green grass that fills up a 
small recess at the south-west extremity—beautiful it would 
have been anywhere, but in such a situation its value was 
tenfold enhanced by the contrast. Here we dined off saibling , 
a delicious kind of trout, for which the lake is renowned. 
All round the hall of the inn were hung rude pictures of 
enormous Lachsferche (salmon trout) and saibling that had 
been caught at different periods by the fishermen,— fisch- 
meister , as they are called,—who, at the same time, are land¬ 
lords of the inn. A representation also there is of a struggle 
with a bear in the water, that took place two centuries ago; 
and a yard or two of rhymes commemorating it. Here I met 


THE TYROL. 


245 


again an English, party I had already spoken with in Salz¬ 
burg —a lady and gentleman with a little girl, and two young 
men, one a Scotchman, wearing a green Tyrolese hat. They 
had been taking the baths at Gastein for a montti, i. e. all but 
the Scotchman, who found amusement with his pencil; at 
last the monotonous kind of life became almost unbearable 
to a strong man amongst invalids, and if they had remained 
there much longer he would have been an invalid himself. 

Before we were half way down the lake on our return, the 
rain came on; but with our little light skiff and a strong 
pair of rowers, we soon touched the landing-place, shooting 
past three other parties making for the same point. The 
rowers are usually a couple of sturdy Amazons, or a man 
and a woman; and the boats much of the same primitive 
form as those in the Tegernsee , and in fact on all the Bavarian 
lakes. I wonder they are not constructed, especially at a 
place so much frequented, with a little more attention to 
elegance and comfort. 

It was now 3 o’clock: we had spent five hours on the 
lake. Another hour brought us back to Berchtesgaden; and 
here I was obliged to part with my amiable companion—his 
path lay north, mine almost south. I intended to push on 
to Ramsau that night, where there was a comfortable inn— 
an easy three hours’ walk. 

Just outside Berchtesgaden I passed an inconceivable quan¬ 
tity of firewood, used, I believe, for boiling; brine, piled 
up to the height of thirty or forty feet, and looking like so 
many solid wooden walls. A little further on I met a couple 
of young Germans who had just accomplished the ascent of 
the gigantic Watzmann , more than 8,000 feet high. They had 
started at 3 o’clock in the morning—seven hours it took 
them to mount, and four to descend. They looked completely 
knocked up, and asked piteously how much further it might 
be to Berchtesgaden. I little envied them : had it been fine 
weather I should probably have been of their party; but to 
undergo so great fatigue, and no reward for it, was more than 
I could relish. Not long after passing them I turned aside 
to see an ingenious machine by the celebrated engineer 
Beichenbach, for pumping the brine through tubes over a 


246 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


hill 1,218 feet high; the same tubes are carried on to Reich en- 
holl, and another set to Traunstein and Rosenheim , at all 
which places there are large salt-works. 

Just before reaching Ramsau, a sign-post indicated some¬ 
thing to be seen by turning, for half an hour, out of the way ; 
and, my guide-book agreeing with the sign-post, I did not 
hesitate a moment. It was the Wimbach Klamm. Klamm 
is a name given to a narrow deep cleft in the rocks to 
make way for a mountain stream : they seem quite charac¬ 
teristic of the Tyrol, and some are of the most fearfully 
wild description. This one was so confined that I could 
barely trace the narrow strip of sky overhead. It was 
almost dark, and the blackness of the rocks and the rushing 
of the stream, as I followed the wooden causeway, con¬ 
structed only a few feet above it, gave it such an unearthly 
character as made me quite willing to leave it. 

By half-past 7 I was in Ramsau , the head-quarters of the 
artists of Munich , and had the privilege of sharing a bedroom 
with only one stranger, a very quiet individual, to whom the 
landlady had previously formally introduced me : he neithei 
spoke nor snored, so what possible objection could I make F 


CHAPTEB XIX. 

THE TYROL!—THE SEISSENBACH KLAMM—ZELL-AM-SEE_ 

ETJSCHER THAL—GROSS GLOCKNER—HEILIGENBLUT AND 
WILDBAD GASTEIN. 


Sept. 6th .—Starting at an early hour, I had not got far on 
the way when the rain drove me into a small inn on the 
shore of the Hintersee , and kept me prisoner there till past 
midday. It gave me a capital opportunity, however, of 
observing the peasants’ manner of keeping Sunday. Soon 
after 8 o’clock all the household, with the exception of 
a couple of cooks, started off for Ramsau, the place I had 



THE TYROL. 


247 


just left, to attend mass. They did not come back till half- 
past 11. The rain had already ceased ; but I was only wait¬ 
ing to ask their permission to dine with them, and was 
rather chagrined to find they had already despatched that 
part of the day’s work in Ramsau at 10 o’clock. 

However, it little mattered. I knew, according to custom, 

I should have the landlord, at least, to keep me company—• 
so I ordered my bread-and-egg soup and Hirschbraten (a very 
ordinary dish here, literally “deer-roast”); and while a 
little posse of guests were chatting away in one corner of the 
room, and the good people of the house—father, mother, 
son, and daughter—were exchanging their church-going 
clothes for more ordinary ones, I set myself busily to work 
at my note-book; and so engrossed did I become with it, 
that I did not observe the arrival of more strangers, and of 
the host and hostess themselves, until all of a sudden I was 
aroused by a general stir, and a sonorous voice repeating 
some sentences at such a rapid pace, and with such an indis¬ 
tinct utterance, that I could not possibly catch a word. On 
looking up I thought at once my dinner must be served, and 
they were saying grace for me; but then, seeing it was not 
so, and feeling myself the only one distinct from the rest, 
and moreover noticing that they were all turned towards 
me, I concluded in my vanity they must be offering me some 
address. These were but momentary ideas ; I was soon un¬ 
deceived. The host, a giant of a fellow, was standing in the 
centre of the room, and the whole company also standing in 
their places. From the monotonous tone of voice, and the * 
crossed hands, it was evidently a midday prayer. I looked 
at the clock and saw it had just struck twelve ; and that all 
hands and faces should be directed towards me, was simply 
the result of my being in the eastern corner of the room. 
The “ devotional ” service lasted fully ten minutes, the whole 
of the assembly following the words of the host, who was 
quite out of breath at the end of each sentence. 

The moment it was over, each sat down again as though 
nothing had happened. Mine host snatched up his flute and 
ran through the “ Copenhagen Waltz; ” the two children came 
to play with my little animal, and I commenced an attack 


248 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

on the souj) which was already before me. In fact, the 
instant the prayer was over, the noise and bustle were re¬ 
sumed, as though nothing of the slightest importance had 
interrupted it. The prayer itself was about as good a speci¬ 
men as I have seen of pure formality combined with total 
absence of devotion. I had had another instance of it earlier 
in the morning : it was just before they went to church. I 
was talking to the little boy, and noticed that between 
his answers to my questions his lips continually moved. 
I at first attributed this to an unfortunate habit he had 
acquired, until I saw him change his position, and make the 
sign of the cross, and then I knew it was his morning A ve 
Maria. During dinner I had all the family round me, and 
I found occupation for all. To the boy I confided my little 
protegee; his sister I bid bring her needle and thread, and 
sew up the broken corners of the seidlitz-powder box that 
held him; the hostess informed herself of where I had come 
from, and what I had seen ; and her “ grosser ” half warbled 
sweetly on his flageolet. One Tyrolean shepherd’s air he 
played so took my fancy that I begged of him to teach it 
me; but it was all in vain—there were so many twists and 
turns and “ twiddle-dum-dees,” I could not possibly catch 
it. 

So entertaining were these good people, that I felt quite 
reluctant to leave them; but a clearer sky told me I must 
not delay; fine weather was just then too precious. The 
little hamlet of Frohnwies I had marked for my night-halt, 
and I got there before sunset; but on the way I saw one 
of nature’s wildest fantasies. After winding through the 
romantic pass of the Hirschbuhl and the lovely valley that 
follows it, and about a mile before reaching Frohnwies , a 
sign-post pointed to the Seissenbach Klamm, five minutes 
froni the roadside. I thought when I had seen the Wimbach 
Klamm and the Oefen of the Salza , it would be difficult to 
find any spot on the globe of a more unearthly aspect; but 
this, although of a similar nature, was a hundred times 
more hideous than either of the others. I do not think I shall 
ever forget the thrill that came over me as I trod the feeble 
wooden platform, feeling on my cheek the cold spray of the 


THE TYROL. 


249 


turbulent torrent, and gazing doubtingly into tbe hollow 
caverns on each side receding into darkness, and saluting 
one another at short intervals above my head. In a large 
circular space, about the centre, two royal shields were 
nailed to the concave face of the rock, with the date 1831, 
and the inscription “ Vos saxa loquuntur .” When I had 
reached the end, the rushing of the stream, increased by the 
late rains, down a narrow declivity was almost deafening. 
The sun had not yet set, but it was just beginning to grow 
dark, and the little light admitted from above was of such 
a peculiar nature, from the green bushes overhanging the 
openings, that if his sable majesty with a troop of fiends at 
his heels had appeared, I should hardly have started. I 
only felt safe when again on the high-road. 

Sept. 'Ith .—Kept prisoner for a second time the whole 
morning by a pelting rain; but there is no affliction without 
its corresponding consolation. What glorious waterfalls I 
should see! They are, of course, always finer after rain; 
and no sight in nature gives me more pleasure. I picked 
up some of my neglected journal, dined with four young 
Germans, who, as usual, were going in exactly the opposite 
direction to me, and by 2 o’clock I was again under way. 
The village of Zell-am-See was yet eighteen miles distant; 
but it had such a sweet-sounding name, I would fain make 
it my night station. 

As I expected, the hills that skirted the road, as well as 
those on the opposite side of the valley, abounded with water¬ 
falls more or less beautiful. Little fissures and crevices- 
that, during fine weather, were quite dry, or through which 
only a few drops had trickled, now laughed and leaped for • 
joy, giving new life and youth to the lonesome vale. 

At Saalfelden , mid-way, I rested half an hour to take 
coffee. Zell-am-See was yet nine miles distant; but I 
reached it easily in two and a quarter hours, arriving there 
by a quarter after 7. I think I never saw two villages more 
enviably situated than these two —Saalfelden and Zell-am- 
See. Lying, one at each end of a lovely valley, the latter on 
the borders of a lake, their inhabitants have always in view 
scenery of the most varied and elevating nature. In addi- 


250 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


tion to their own green meadows, at one end they see the 
snow-bedecked summit of the Wiesbachhorn (11,300 feet); at 
the other end a long range of grey cliffs, including the 
Steinernes Meer and Ewig&r Sc knee (Stony Ocean and Eternal 
Snow); and on each side hills attired in nature’s richest garb. 

Soon after 6 o’clock the sun had left the vale, and, on 
looking back towards the mountain range just mentioned, 
such a scene presented itself as I shall not easily forget. 
The heavens were almost clear, and the few clouds that still 
hung like curtains across the barren cliffs were invested by 
the rays of the setting sun with a brilliant crimson tint; the 
projecting ledges of rock seemed on fire, and the white, red, 
yellow, and black marble dispersed in broad patches over 
the grey stone shone with a peculiar lustre. A few feathery 
clouds of a roseate hue were floating ’twixt earth and the 
pale blue sky; the whole forming such a lovely contrast of 
form and colour as I never before beheld. I remembered 
gratefully the shepherd’s rhyme, and looked cheerfully 
forward to the morrow. 

Sept. 8th .—I was not deceived : the sun had not yet risen 
over Zett-am-See when I left the inn, and a thick white 
vapour brooded over the lake; but the moment I reached 
the broad Pinzgau Thai , my attention was riveted by a light 
of unusual brilliancy towards the left extremity. Taxen- 
bach, the first place of the valley, five miles distant, was 
enveloped in a perfect blaze of glory—the sun’s powerful 
rays had already incorporated themselves into the thin 
vapoury mist that hung over it, and the little pilgrimage 
church on the intervening hill stood out in marvellous relief 
against a background of dazzling brightness. Where were 
all the Tyrolean artists, that some of them were not here 
both this morning and last night ? 

My path to-day, for the most part, lay along the lovely 
Fuscher Thai. Really these valleys, like the lakes, are all so 
beautiful, and have all their peculiar excellences, that one 
dares not select a solitary example, and declare it more beau¬ 
tiful than the rest. Here, at this early hour, it was curious 
to see the white mist lifting itself slowly like a veil from the 
hills, and revealing one by one the beauties that lay be- 


THE TYROL. 


251 


neath, reserving for the last, as its “ ne plus ultra ,” the 
snowy heights of the mighty Gross Gloclmer (12,158 feet). 

In the little village of Fuseli, where I dined, I engaged 
Boderer, the best guide in the neighbourhood, to take me in 
three days over the mountains to Bad Gastein , agreeing to 
pay him according to the tariff, five florins for the first day, 
four for the next, three for the next, and also for his meals. 
It was a fete-day, the Virgin’s birthday,—where they get it 
from I know not,—and the common room at the little inn 
was full of peasantry in holiday costume. I dined in a small 
room adjoining, but no sooner was my little companion pro¬ 
duced, than, one by one, the whole company came to see it, 
asking, as usual, all sorts of questions, such as—“ Is it alive ? 
What did it cost P Where did you get it P How old is it ? 
What does it live upon P And if it eats only salad now, what 
does it eat in the winter ?” Having satisfied their curiosity, 
and concluded my arrangements with the guide, I continued 
my day’s march, making a detour of seven or eight miles, up 
a side valley, to see St. Wolfgangsbad. Few but peasants 
resort to it as a remedy for disease, and the only access is by 
a narrow pathway, leading up a tolerably steep ascent. The 
village consists of some half-dozen houses only, romantically 
situated in the most confined part of the valley, with a pretty 
waterfall rushing between—in fact, a very diminutive Bad 
Gastein. What was the peculiar healing property of the water 
I could not discover. I drank a glass of it; it was perfectly 
tasteless, cold as ice, and clear as crystal. They say a peasant 
comes there scarcely able to stand; he drinks this water, - 
and bathes in it when warmed, and in ten days or a fort¬ 
night he is quite another man. 

At the inn where I stopped to take a cup of coffee, my 
little animal was equally an object of curiosity as in Fuseli, 
and even three or four who had not seen it there had followed 
me here in order not to miss it; my guide had also come, 
and with him I walked back again into the Fuscher Thai, 
after he had taken a formal farewell of his friends, whom he 
would not see again for six days. On the way he won my 
good graces by diving into the bushes for the delicious wild 
raspberries that grew there in abundance. We drew up at 


252 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Ferleiten ,—a village of two liouses,—where we had agreed to 
sleep, and start for the mountain tour at 5 o’clock next 
morning. 

Sept. 9th .—At length one of my great desires was to he ac¬ 
complished—I was to cross a glacier—a genuine ice glacier. 
At half-past 5 everything was ready; my plaid was already 
thrown “ shawl ways ” over my shoulder to keep out the raw 
morning air, and I had possession of a good five-foot alpenstock. 

Koderer, my guide, was an honest-looking fellow, of six feet 
and more in height, and fifty-six years of age, but with iron 
muscles, and a step like a young man. Over one shoulder he 
carried my little knapsack, over the other a bundle of edibles, 
&c., and a pair of irons for crossing the ice. A handsome 
brown and white shepherd’s dog, his constant companion, 
completed the party. Three hours at a steady pace, up a 
steep stony path, not once stopping to rest, brought us to 
the commencement of the glacier—rather soiled by the late 
rains, but none the less icy. Now we attached the iron grips 
to our feet, and in little more than half an hour, during 
which I followed closely in the steps of the guide, after 
jumping across some score of narrow chasms of a depth that 
made me shudder to look down into them, we reached the 
summit of the pass called the Pfandelscharte, 8,300 feet high. 
Here I exchanged compliments and congratulations with an 
Austrian officer, who, singularly enough, arrived at the top 
from the opposite side at the very same moment. As we had 
only a small bed of snow to cross in descending, we took off 
our ice shoes, and gave them up to him and his guide, who 
had very foolishly come without any. In less than an hour we 
were in the valley below ; my guide was in capital spirits, 
for he assured me that never in his life had he crossed the 
pass so quickly, and he had already been over it a hundred 
times or more. We had done it in four and a half hours ; he 
had never accomplished it before in less than five, and the 
usual time was six, seven, and often eight hours. 

Here, in the barren valley, still some 5,000 feet above the 
sea, and close to a little stream of delicious water trickling 
over large pieces of rock that an avalanche had brought down 
from above, we sat down to our midday meal—it was only 


THE TYROL. 


253 


10 o’clock, but we had well earned it, and, moreover, I am 
such an early riser now that .1 readily fall into native hours 
when the meal-time arrives. Having despatched our mutton 
bones in true Oriental, i.e. canine, fashion, and taken 
mutual draughts from the bottle of wine and flask of schnapps , 
we ascended a hill immediately above us, and sat down on 
the very spot where the Emperor of Austria had rested just 
a twelvemonth ago. 

It was like coming into another world. After Vesuvius, 
nothing has taken me more by surprise than this region of 
snow and ice. Everything but the sky was pure glistening 
white, and that, unfortunately, was of a very opposite colour. 
Eight in front of us, and apparently not more than half a mile 
distant, though it may have been two or three, was the mighty 
Gross Glockner, his dingy night-cap still hanging over his 
brow; to the right, the chaste Johannisherg with her two fair 
companions, one on each side, all three of conical form, and 
clothed to their very feet with a robe of soft unsullied snow; 
a long range of hoary heads stretched away to the left, and 
the space between was filled up by the extraordinary and 
beautiful Pasterzergletscher , twelve miles long—a field of 
icebergs it might almost be called, so uneven and full of 
deep fissures and cavities is it. 

Eour hours did we wait here in the hope that the old giant 
would shake off his drowsiness. I suppose it was infectious, 
for at the end of the second hour I fell off to sleep myself; 
and when I awoke, two hours after, finding the old fellow 
still in the same condition, I gave the order to march ; and- 
in three hours more, passing through the Mollthal , whose 
prettiest feature was the bounding Leiterbach Fall, we reached 
Iieiligenblut (Holy blood). In the church is preserved in a 
smali bottle what the peasants believe to be a few drops of 
the real blood of Christ, brought from Jerusalem and depo¬ 
sited here by the pious St. Braccius, as I was told. 

Sept. 10th. —Along day’s march to Bucheben, a village con¬ 
sisting of a church, a school, and an inn. Old Glockner , 
after his long sleep of yesterday, had risen early this morn¬ 
ing, for at 5 o’clock, or soon after, his double-peaked head, 
looking like one only, was the first object I saw on leaving 


254 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


the house. How I longed to embrace him, and to be able 
to write in the “ Fremdenbuch ,” as two Englishmen had 
done only two days before (Fortescue and Napier were the 
names)—“To Kriml , by way of the summit of the Gross 
Glockner /” But the existing state of my funds precluded 
all thought of it. Three guides are necessary ; the tariff for 
them is ten florins each, and their living another ten—so far 
£4; and then your own “keep” with extras increases this 
sum to about £o for a day and a half. Had I met any one 
to share expenses I certainly think I should have attempted 
it, coute qui coute, especially as my guide had pronounced me 
fit for the Gross Glockner , Gross Venediger, Mont Blanc , or 
anything else I pleased. For the present, however, I mode¬ 
rate my desires to* mountains of 7,000 or 8,000 feet; and so 
this morning it was three hours’ steep and stony work before 
we reached the pass called the Holie Tlior (8,058 feet), a slit 
in the Rauriser Tauern. I ought just to observe that the 
heights given here are reckoned from the sea, but it is neces¬ 
sary to keep in mind that the valleys themselves from which 
these mountains rise are also some 2,000 or 3,000 feet 
above sea-level. My guide must be a very devout man ; he 
never passes a cross, image, holy picture (?), or chapel, with¬ 
out taking off his hat; at some of them he stops to say an 
Ave Maria, and here he kept me waiting at least four or five 
minutes in the cold in front of a little calico doll, intended, 
he told me, for our Saviour. He must have said at least ten 
Ave Marias and one Voter Unser. 

Midday brought us to a smoky little cottage, called the 
Tauern ITaus , where all we could get was bread and cheese, 
pancakes, and sour wine. We rested here nearly three hours, 
as we had come quickly, and had ample time for the re¬ 
mainder of the way. The last three hours had been con¬ 
tinually down hill, in many places nearly perpendicular; 
and I incline to the belief that, in point of fatigue, there is 
very little difference between descending and ascending, in 
fact, the former is probably the most tiring. 

Four stiff hours along the valley, and we were at our night 
quarters, where the schoolmaster and the priest favoured me 
with their company till bedtime. One of the jovial sort was 


THE TYROL. 


255 


the geistlicher Herr; and many a laugh did we have at the 
expense of my honest old guide, whose broad dialect I would 
not understand. I ought not to have omitted mention of a 
beautiful fall we passed on the way, a few steps beyond the 
Tauern-haus —the Spritzbach Fall . It dashes oyer an abrupt 
precipice that appeared to me at least 300 feet high, and, 
after bounding oyer several successive ledges of rock, rushes 
into the brook of the valley with such a tossing and foaming 
as I never saw equalled by any fall but that at Gastein. 

Sept. 11 th. —On the march by half-past 5 o’clock. Our way 
lay again over a hill about 6,000 feet high, that occupied 
nearly three hours to mount. Wild strawberries, raspberries, 
currants, and bilberries grew here in abundance, and the 
reader may feel sure they were not passed by unheeded. From 
the summit we had a charming view over the Gold Mountains 
and the snowy heights above Nassfeld: the gold mines now 
barely repay the working of them. In two hours more we 
were in Bad Gastein —five hours in all from Bucheben. It 
was curious to come back again to the same spot I had left 
only eight days before, having made in the interval a circuit 
of some 200 miles. 

The number of Curg'dste (Cure-guests) was considerably 
reduced, but the glorious, sparkling waterfall was still there, 
more boisterous than ever, replenished by the late rains. If 
not the most picturesque, it is certainly by far the largest 
and most magnificent I have seen. The two finest falls in 
the Tyrol are near Kriml, at the end of the Ponzgau Thai , 
and I believe this ranks next. 

We were in Straubinger’s, the largest hotel in the place, 
by 11 o’ clock, and my honest old guide suggested it was 
not a minute too soon to dine; upon which I insisted on his 
dining at my table, and to choose his favourite dish. I was 
curious to see what might be his notion of a delicacy. After 
looking carefully down a long list of fancy dishes, he asked 
for a Schmarn, i.e. a thick pancake chopped up into little 
bits, and declared he liked nothing better, and dined from it 
almost every day of his life. Indeed, the peasants in this 
locality very seldom eat meat, existing almost entirely on 
bread, butter, cheese, honey, vegetables, and milk and eggs 


256 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


cooked in various ways: beer and sour wine is all they 
drink ; and yet, with this humble fare, they axe as hearty a 
set of beings as you can wish to see. I ordered something a 
little more substantial for myself, and handed over to the 
Kellner inn, at the same time, some mushrooms we had picked 
up on the way, which were to be metamorphosed into a deli¬ 
cious stew, after a particular receipt of old Roderer’s. She 
took them to the kitchen, but very soon returned to intimate 
that my presence was required there. I wondered what could 
be the matter, and on presenting myself was not a little sur¬ 
prised to find myself confronted by at least a dozen female 
cooks, some looking daggers, others giggling, and before I 
had time to give a guess at the meaning of it all, a shrill, 
angry voice—it was that of the head-cook—summoned me to 
the opposite corner of her smoky domain. In one hand was 
a plate full of my mushrooms chopped up ready for the pan; 
in the other the finest one of all, which in my innocence I 
had gathered, thinking what a famous damper it would be 
for Roderer’s hungry appetite. A damper to him it would 
indeed have proved, poor old fellow, according to the ancient 
beldame’s statement. Pushing it right under my nose, with 
a horrid grimace, she begged to know if I intended to poison 
them all, and if not, what was my object in bringing a poi¬ 
sonous thing into the house. I assured her how perfectly 
innocent I was of any wilful intentions, and that this one 
was so exactly like some of the others that I could hardly 
conceive her right to condemn it. ‘ ‘ How did I dare presume 
to dispute her knowledge P Had she not lived on the spot 
all her life ?—and was she not perfectly well acquainted with 
every variety of fungus , from the most harmless to the most 
poisonous?” To have bandied words with a head-cook— 
one of the most important, and generally one of the stur¬ 
diest personages of the establishment—would have been rash 
indeed—as much as my mushroom stew was worth, at the 
very lowest calculation; and so, begging her to burn the 
obnoxious non-esculent, I speedily quitted the “ august pre¬ 
sence.” 

After I had taken leave of Roderer, and relaxed my atten¬ 
tions to his famous stew, I proceeded to renew the acquaint- 



THE TYROL. 


2o7 


ance of a couple of Bohemian gentlemen with whom I had 
exchanged a few words at Hintersee. We took coffee to¬ 
gether, and walked out to inspect the environs, turning our 
steps towards the Gloriette hill. Having attained its top, 
we spent half an hour, or more, in the little arbour, luxu¬ 
riating in the magnificent prospect, and reading the innu¬ 
merable effusions with which vanity, folly, or genius had 
defaced its walls. To the latter kind, perhaps, belong the. 
following, which we all copied:— 

„ D Sftatur, Me tiff bu bvdcBtig, 

2Tdc iff beitte ftraft fo ntadjtig, 

ItnBegveiflicf)—twmbetBat! 

2Ber fceffugelt biefc Sffieficrt, 

2Bev BcjauBertc bie diteffen, 

2Bcv Ijat biefe 53erge*@cf)aat: 

9lufgcff)urmt fo fyocf) unb ftcfjer; 

2Ber f;at biefe ^tmntelgroaub, 

2&et bie toeiften £etcf)entucf;)er 
-2luf ben <£of)en au$gefpannt, 

28er BegaBte biefe Shift 

2)7it bcr 93 lumen ®alfautbuft, 

Sffier f)at Slffcg bieb ooUBracfd? 

T)cirtf bcr e6 f>at gemadjt, 

<2>oIcf)e SSunber f)ingefte(ft 
2luf bie3 *J3unftdj)en einer 2Beft, 

£5er jum <Segen unb ©ebeify’tt 
<Sd)uf bied f)etrlicf)c ©aftcin!" 

Translated word for word it would run thus (the poetry 
of the original is of course lost):— 

“ 0 nature, how splendid art thou, 

How mighty is thy power, 

Inconceivable—wonderful! 

Who gives wings to these waters, 

W r ho placed here the springs, 

Who has this mountain-band 
So high and firm upraised; 

S 


% 


258 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Who has this heaven’s wall, 

Who the white shrouds 
On the heights outstretched, 

Who bestowed this air 

With balsam-flowers perfumed— 

Who has all this performed ? 

Thank him who this has done, 

Such wonders brought together 
On this tiny spot of earth, 

Who for blessing and prosperity 
Made this glorious Gastein! ” 

One of my friends was quite an original—a professor of 
music I fancy—especially as he was a native of Salzburg, 
the city of Mozart; and instead of the multiplied “common¬ 
places,” that covered the walls and table, he composed off¬ 
hand the following stave to these words :— 

„ 3)ie Statuv in ©aftein ift fyintntlifd) fdjen." 

“ Nature in Gastein is of heavenly beauty.” 



I was sorry to be obliged to part from two such agreeable 
companions on the morrow, our road lying as usual in different 
directions. 












































THE TYROL. 


2o9 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE TYROL I—RADSTADT, AHTSTABERG, GOSATJ, HALLSTADT, 
ISCHL, AHD TITE SCHAEBERG. 

Sejot. 12 th .—Took one of the medical baths at 5 o’clock, 
and start soon after 7 with a guide, for the pass of the 
Gamsgarkogel, between 7,000 and 8,000 feet high; reach it in 
two hours and ten minutes, to the man’s perfect amazement, 
who never accomplished it before under three hours. The 
poor fellow was so worn out with fatigue, and the way down 
into the valley looked so easy, that I paid him his due, and 
told him I would dispense with his services. 

I had now to work my way alone for three days through 
a woody country whereof I knew nothing, and which was 
not even hinted at in my guide-book; but my plan is 
generally to follow the map rather than the guide-book, 
when I have one I can depend on ; and as mine happened 
to be remarkably good, with every little foot-path and 
hamlet distinctly marked, the correctness of which I had 
frequently proved, I had no hesitation in following it this 
time. I proposed to bring my first day to an end at St. 
Jolmnn, through which I had already passed twice before in 
my first visit to Gastein, but instead of going by the post¬ 
road, I chose the unfrequented and longer route for the sake 
of variety. 

Many German tourists I had met, and especially the two 
just left at Gastein, expressed their astonishment that, as a 
stranger, only imperfectly acquainted with the language, 1 
should have no fear in travelling alone through these un¬ 
frequented, thinly populated regions, where sometimes for ten 
or twelve miles one does not meet with a human being ; and 
more than once I was asked what weapons I carried. Now, 
begging their pardons, all of them, I must say I set them 
down as a set of cowards. They always travel in parties of 
twos and threes, and often more ; and if by a singular chance 
one of them is obliged to make a journey alone, he is sure 
to furnish himself with an ugly knife, a pair of pistols, or 


260 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


some other foolish plaything of an equally useless nature. My 
idea is, if you wish to be robbed, show a man of a vicious 
disposition the hilt of a dagger sticking out of your pocket, 
and you at once excite his cupidity by letting him see you 
have something worth defending : in a strange country, 
with two or three associates, he would easily render your 
weapon of no avail; but if you salute him with a social 
“ good-day,” and walk on with a confident but unsuspecting 
air, ten to one if he remembers five minutes after that you 
have passed; and besides, I have so good opinion of the 
honesty and simplicity of the Tyrolese that I should never 
fear to trust myself among them anywhere; every country 
of course has its mauvais sujets, but the best way to avoid 
them, according to my principle, is, either to show that you 
have no suspicion of them, or if you have, that you do not 
care for them. 

Leaving the scharte, or pass, I followed a small path down 
into the valley by a solitary hut, where the only individual 
I could see of whom to inquire the way was a shrivelled old 
Sycrax of a woman, whose dialect bordered upon the unin¬ 
telligible ; from her I learnt I had yet another good hour to 
Huttschlag , the village where I intended to dine. The road 
lay nearly the whole distance through a sombre pine forest. 
The inn at Huttschlag was one of the most miserable I ever 
entered, and all I could get to eat was a repulsive-looking 
plateful of what they called boiled beef, but I vouch no 
horse-flesh could have been less palatable. Hunger, how¬ 
ever, and a cheerful host, are very good levellers of nice 
culinary distinctions, and in a short time my poor fare had 
disappeared and was forgotten. My little animal, as usual, 
was produced and admired, but I really don’t know whether 
I was not equally an object of wonder and astonishment. 
It was no ordinary thing for them to be honoured by a visit 
from an Englishman. Their knowledge of the world is very 
small, all their ideas of greatness and wealth centre in 
Germany: and one simple peasant, who had heard some 
rumour of England and the wealth of the English peo¬ 
ple, inquired very innocently in what part of Germany 
England was situated, but was instantly corrected with con- 


THE TYROL. 


261 


scions pride by the schoolmaster, wlio told him England was 
no part of Germany at all, but lay miles away over the 
ocean. Another, a sturdy smiling damsel from Gross Arl , 
the principal village of the valley, six miles off, begged I 
would stay and spend the night there instead of going on to 
St. Johann. She came from the bake-house which supplied 
the country round with bread; and she assured me they 
would be able to give me quite as good a bed as I should get 
at the inn, and it was still five hours’ hard walking to St. 
Jolmnn. It was a tantalising offer, but if I had accepted it, 
my next day’s walk would have been too long. 

I was not allowed to leave Huttschlag, however, without 
going to see its collection of minerals, the boast of the 
village. The neighbouring hills, it appears, had formerly 
possessed some rich copper and other mines which were now 
no longer worked; but the stones and crystals collected from 
time to time had been carefully arranged and classified by a 
most eccentric-looking individual who had evidently received 
a superior education ; he showed quite the manners of a 
gentleman, but was so shabbily dressed that I thought it 
surely could not be wrong to offer him a slight remuneration 
for his civility and attention. The air with which he refused 
it was magnificent. I thought of the fine Custom-House 
officers at Naples, in their bright blue uniforms, and it 
struck me this poor peasant—I doubt if he were much more 
•—was the better specimen of a gentleman. 

I reached St. Johann that evening about 7 o’clock. 
The valley of the Saha is connected with that of the Gross 
Arl , which I had just left, by a very fine pass, the name of 
which I have forgotten. The road is a wonderful piece of 
engineering—a narrow causeway cut out of the solid rock, 
and carried to a fearful height up the precipitous side of the 
mountain, affording a splendid view over the valley in which 
St. Johann lies. This village, on account of its beautiful 
and convenient situation, is likely to become in a few years 
one of the most important places in the Tyrol; only two 
years since a fire destroyed the church and fifty houses ; but 
now they are almost all rebuilt, and many new ones in 
addition, on a much handsomer scale than before. 


262 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Sept. 13th .—Being Sunday, it was to have been a short, 
easy day’s work of some seventeen or eighteen miles only, 
but owing to my unfortunate propensity for climbing hills 
whenever they come in my way, instead of going round 
them, this distance was nearly doubled. I got lost in a 
wood; and this wood, moreover, was on the side of the hill 
several miles from where I commenced to ascend it. I lost 
the path altogether, and had but a very faint idea of the 
direction I ought to take in order to come down upon the 
road again. I had not seen a human being for the last three 
hours, and was just beginning to wonder whether I should 
get sight of some habitation before nightfall, when I caught 
a glimpse of the road through the trees at a dizzy depth 
below. It is no easy matter, allow me to observe, with a 
stick in your hand, a knapsack over your shoulder, and a 
plaid on your arm, to make your way downwards through a 
pine-wood planted on the side of a very steep hill, with 
nothing but loose stones, slippery twigs, and damp earth for 
a footing; I found at least it required no little perseverance 
and a fair amount of patience. With no worse misfortune 
than a few unpleasant encounters with the knotty pines, in 
which my poor little knapsack, by-the-bye, got the worst of 
it, I finally dropped into the road, and in another hour was 
at the small market-town of Wagrein, where I dined. Three 
hours more brought me, by about 5 o’clock, to Radstadt, a 
fortified town of about 1,200 inhabitants, but with nothing 
remarkable in it; yet I am astonished Badeker should omit 
mention of it altogether. 

Sept. 14 tli .—A walk of about five hours, chiefly through 
pine forests, brought me, without any particular adventure, 
to my midday halt, Annaberg, a small hamlet at the foot of 
the Zwieselalp. It was a grand day with the peasants—a 
new chapel had just been opened, with processions and firing 
of guns. During dinner, observing that my pretty little 
waitress was constantly dividing her attentions between me 
and her rosary, and feeling naturally jealous of such a com¬ 
petitor, I soon made allusion to it, and asked to examine it. 
I admired the form and colour of the beads, and expressed 
myself so well satisfied, that she was about to make me 


THE TYROL. 


263 


a present of it, until I told her she must first teach me 
how to use it; and then, discovering I was no Catholic, she 
said she could on no account give it me, but thought she 
might sell it me, if I was particularly desirous to have it, 
for a few kreutzers. I assured her I should be perfectly 
satisfied if she would only explain to me the use of it. 
Accordingly, she commenced by making me observe that 
there were sixty small beads and eleven large ones, I think; 
the small were for the Ave Marias , the large for the Voter 
Unsers ; that with the aid of these she was enabled to get 
through the whole string without a mistake in about ten 
minutes. She had proceeded thus far, when our interesting 
dialogue was cut short by the arrival of a whole troupe of 
feasters clamouring for their dinners. I wished them farther, 
and stopped the caperings of one of their number by engag¬ 
ing hi m as my guide over the Ziviesel-Alp. He was a fellow 
in the prime of life, between thirty and forty years of age; 
but whether he had swallowed his dinner too fast, or whether 
his health was not good from working in the mines, he was 
such a poor climber that I could have done almost better 
without him, as the path was by no means difficult to find. 
The ascent was not more than an affair of about two hours and 
a half, and yet he begged for rest before we were half way up. 
I reached the top long before him, and, when he did arrive 
the poor fellow was so breathless I quite pitied him. 
“He had never been guide to such a tough gentleman 
before,” he said; and hoped, I’ve no doubt, he might never 
have the misfortune to get another Englishman, if they were 
all equally so. I am not particularly long-winded, rather 
the opposite; but when my legs are once fairly on the swing, 
I get such a kind of “ excelsior ” spirit, that the nearer 1 
approach the top the faster I always desire to go—on, on, 
on. I cannot stop; and find it much less fatiguing to get 
over it in that way than to rest every ten minutes, as many 
mountain climbers do. 

The view for which I had been at the pains of mounting 
this hill was left almost entirely to the imagination, for the 
moment I reached the summit a drizzling rain came on, which 
obscured all the distant mountains; a few ranges in the 


264 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


neighbourhood, the singular-looking Stahlgebirge, and the 
snowy Dachstein, with a few others, gave me some idea of what 
the whole view must be on a clear day; and the three little 
Gosau lakes in one corner of the valley immediately below 
would not,I am sure, be among its least interesting features. 
Even under that sky, the Hintersee especially was of the 
most vivid green, like a huge emerald set in a forest of 
sombre firs. I think I never saw so lovely a contrast. 

The ZtuieseJalp is becoming one of the most frequented hills 
in the neighbourhood, on account of its view, and therefore 
I was rather mortified at being disappointed by the weather; 
but I have since been consoled by a much finer panorama 
from a mountain of even greater renown—one that takes in 
all the ranges seen from the latter, and several others beyond 
—this is the Schafberg, which I shall speak of by-and-by. 

To escape the rain, we betook ourselves to a little Alpine 
Hiitte, where we got some delicious cream and honey. In 
half an hour it was clear again, and I felt greatly inclined 
to remount the hill, but the afternoon was wearing on, and 
we were already a long way below the summit. I had to 
pass through a dense wood, moreover, before reaching the 
valley, and did not relish the idea of being benighted in it; 
so, after making my guide put me on the right path, I sent 
him back to his sweetheart in the Alpine hut, and before 
sunset I was in the Wirthshaus at Gosau. 

Sept. 1 5th .—Partake of honey and cream if you will, but in 
moderation, I beg of you, and above all do not follow them 
up about three hours later by a rich veal cutlet and a couple 
of glasses of beer; if you do I’ll tell you what will probably 
be the consequence—ten chances to one if you pass a perfectly 
tranquil night; in all probability your rest will be disturbed 
more than once by an unpleasant sensation in the throat 
which allows you no peace. Do not imagine, I say, that 
because you are a traveller, taking plenty of exercise, and in 
the most perfect health, nothing in the world can disagree 
with you. I have proved to the contrary, or I shouldn’t be 
driven to the humiliating confession that I was laid by for a 
whole day in this little bit of a Gosau alehouse from total 
inability to proceed! 


THE TYROL. 


265 


If any of my friends, however, should hereafter be travel¬ 
ling, and wish to put my statement to the proof, I would 
affectionately counsel them to defer the experiment if possible 
till they arrive at this little spot, should it chance to come in 
their line of route ; for nowhere I verily believe would they 
meet with that j)atience, and attention, and comfort, and sym¬ 
pathy, and everything else so acceptable in the circumstances 
likely to ensue, as at this little Wirthshaus “ Brandwirth .” The 
host is a dry, shrewd, sarcastic fellow, but of a good heart. 
In the evening, as I was almost myself again, he invited the 
aristocracy of the village to meet me, in order that I might 
not die of ennui. The party numbered about a dozen, and 
we took our places at a long table in the guests’ room, the 
schoolmaster and myself at the head ; mine host sat respect¬ 
fully at a side-table, smoking a long pipe, and throwing his 
jokes and puns without distinction at everybody. When 
each had supped according to his or her own particular fancy, 
further supplies of wine and beer were brought, cigars were lit, 
and the evening’s entertainment commenced. My little dumb 
companion being the last novelty, was, as a matter of course, 
produced; its natural history, its qualities and capabilities, 
were for a long time discussed; in fact, during two whole 
hours, between the intervals of singing and conversation, 
its sober antics afforded mirth and merriment to the whole 
company. The songs were of the class I had frequently 
heard of late, and which always left me longing for more— 
those Tyrolean falsetto “ jodeling” choruses I should never tire 
of; and here I only had to ask and to have, as they came 
bursting forth one after the other, each one more boisterous 
than the last. I began to wonder whether the stock would 
ever be exhausted, and was just about to beg for peace, when 
there seemed to be a break, and one young man with a mag¬ 
nificent tenor voice, at the request of his pretty sweetheart, 
sang the “Last Rose of Summer,” a great favourite in these 
parts. Thus passed one of the liveliest evenings I spent 
in the Tyrol, and one I shall always remember as a specimen 
of the hospitality, cheerfulness, good nature, simplicity, and 
homely character of its people. 

Sept. 1 6th .—A dark, foggy morning; nevertheless by 


266 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


half-past 5 I was already on the way, determined to repair 
the damage of a day’s idleness by a hard day’s work, though 
I had not fixed where it should terminate. At all events, I 
knew Budolphsthurm, above Hallstadt , must be the first point 
of attack ; this is a small fortress built by Kaiser Albrecht , 
1299, on an eminence 1,100 feet above the lake, to protect the 
salt-works from the “ grip ” of the Salzburg bishops, so says 
my guide-book at least. The existing edifice, however, 
appeared to me far from belonging to so remote an age, but in 
one of the rooms is preserved a very interesting collection 
of old Celtic ornaments, domestic implements, and weapons 
of war, besides an immense variety of ammonites and other 
fossils beautifully polished, and all found in the mountain ; 
also on a little hill close by are to be seen nearly 300 human 
skeletons, likewise discovered in the immediate neighbour¬ 
hood, proving the importance of the place in ancient times, 
and the struggles that probably were made for the posses¬ 
sion of the mines, at that time more considerable than now. 

Long before reaching Hallstadt I had exchanged the post¬ 
road for a well-trodden gravel path conducting by a gradual 
ascent of three miles in length to the Budolphsthurm ; it had 
been constructed along the perpendicular side of the moun¬ 
tain, affording throughout its whole length a charming blick 
on to the deep blue Hallstadter See, and finally on to the busy 
little town of Hallstadt itself, its houses seeming to overhang 
the lake, and looking like so many swallows’ nests suspended 
from the hard walls of rock that approach almost to the 
water’s edge. A continuation of the same path, but of a 
steep, zigzag formation, brought me down into the town. 
Women were continually descending and ascending, to the 
number apparently of some hundreds, carrying on their 
backs wooden frames for conveying the salt in lumps from 
the mines to the town, those which are now worked lying 
not far from the summit of the mountain; each woman 
carries three or four heavy blocks of about a foot square, 
a task that in England would hardly be imposed upon 
females, and which few but these hardy Tyrolese, accustomed 
to such labour from their childhood, could endure. 

There was nothing of sufficient interest to detain me at 


THE TYROL. 


267 


Uallstadt . It was not later than 9 o’clock, although I had 
already had a good three hours’ walking, but I was anxious 
to push on towards Ischl , still about twelve miles distant, 
and, if possible, reach it by dinner time; so I passed through 
Hallstadt, and trudged along the pretty little path close to 
the shore of the lake, glancing upwards every now and then 
with a feeling of satisfaction at the rugged causeway some 
hundreds of feet above my head, from which, only two hours 
previously, I had looked down tremblingly on the path I was 
now following. 

Arrived at the little village of St eg at the farther extremity 
of the lake, both hunger and heat conspired to put a stop to 
my onward march. An hour sufficed to satisfy these and set 
me again on the road. Skirting the populous village of 
Goisern , and passing through the small market-town of 
Laufen, I soon reached the first indication of the vicinity of 
Ischl, —the granite column set up to commemorate the im¬ 
portant fact that here terminated the usual morning spazier- 
gang of the Emperor Ferdinand. Between this and the 
town itself, a distance of about three miles, I had sufficient 
opportunities, from the windings of the road, to form 
some idea of the lovely position and enchanting scenery of 
this fairy-like spot. In all the extent of his wide dominions, 
none is so great a favourite with the emperor, and few things 
perhaps render it more so than the recollection that it was 
here he first met and loved his amiable consort; and here, 
therefore, distant as it is from the capital, he never fails 
to spend some portion of the summer. 

Ischl is the chief town of the Salzkammergut, one of the 
most beautiful regions of the Austrian dominions, and since 
1822 much frequented as a ‘ 'Bad” It lies in a perfect amphi¬ 
theatre of woody hills, rising one above another in all that 
charming variety of form and colour that combine to produce 
the beautiful and the picturesque in nature—in few spots, I 
believe, more perfectly soft and lovely than here. 

I was now only a day’s journey from Linz, where I hoped 
to recover my baggage, and improve the condition of my 
twofold supplies, money and linen, neither of them in a 
satisfactory state, owing to my having been some days longer 


268 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

on the way than I had anticipated. By a nice calculation, 
however, I thought I might still hold out two days longer; 
one of these would be taken up in going to Linz , the other 
might be profitably spent perhaps in exploring the natural 
curiosities around Isclil; but the lake of St. Wolfgang and 
the renowned Schafberg were but three hours to the west, 
and the temptation to have a peep at them, at least, was not 
to be resisted. I should, moreover, be obliged to return by 
way of Isclil. 

It was barely 3 o’clock when I reached the latter, and it 
was over a cup of coffee at a small inn that I came promptly 
to the resolution of reaching St. Wolfgang also before night¬ 
fall. To leave Isclil I had to pass along the fashionable pro¬ 
menade by the side of the Traun, at the end of which a small 
statue made me pause for a few seconds ; it was an “ Hygeia” 
in bronze, mounted on a pedestal, on which was the follow¬ 
ing curious inscription :— 

„ SDlctri ncnnt gvefheb ©fucf auf ©tbett, 

©efitnb $u fettt— 

3d) [age item! 

©in grbjbrcb iff, gejitnb $u toerben." 

Literally, “ One counts as the greatest blessing on earth, 
healthy (or sound) to be —I say no! a greater is sound to 
become .” With a head full of reflections more or less philo¬ 
sophical, and wondering whether I might ever be allowed 
to test the truth of the above paradox, I stepped briskly 
along the cross-road through the wood to St. Wolfgang , and 
other sights and sounds soon drove Isclil and its little bronze 
statue from my thoughts. As I drew near the lake, and the 
giant hills that encircled it developed before me their varied 
forms one by one, my curiosity was excited as to which it 
was whose acquaintance I should make on the morrow; 
more than one fine fellow by his bulky proportions and 
lofty stature seemed to claim the honour, but so equally 
balanced did their merits appear that I felt unable to decide 
with safety which might be the redoubtable Schafberg. 
Another matter that aroused my curiosity was the reverbe- 


THE TYROL. 


269 

rating sounds and echoes in the neighbouring hills, which 
multiplied as I advanced, without my being able to discover 
their origin, until, as I approached the numerous timber- 
yards that line the banks of the river, I saw they were but 
the answer to the boat-builder’s hammer, whose every stroke 
found a thundering welcome in the rocks and forests around. 
The sunset over the hills that blocked up the extreme end of 
the lake was magnificent; and in turning from time to time 
towards Ischl, it was interesting to note the changes in the 
tints of the vapoury clouds as the golden orb sank lower and 
lower, and carried w r ith him, one after the other, his colour¬ 
ing rays. 

By foolishly disregarding a very simple direction—to keep 
straight forward—I gave myself an hour’s more walking than 
there was any necessity for, and it was quite dark, therefore, 
by the time I arrived at Schwarzinger’s Hotel. It was up¬ 
wards of fourteen hours since I left the inn at Gosau in the 
morning, and of those fourteen I had rested on the way but 
little more than one; at a low calculation, therefore, I had 
walked forty miles—tolerably creditable for one who had 
been laid up with a bilious attack the day previous. 

On entering the Gasthaus I asked at once to be shown to 
my room, in order to ease myself of my heavy boots, and in 
passing the salle-a-manger, I thought I descried through the 
half-open door the broad substantial outline of one of my 
countrymen. In a little out-of-the-way place like this, thus 
late in the season, and alone, to meet with an Englishman, 
was certainly possible, but at the same time very improbable, 
and so I lost no time in pumping the little Kettnerinn on the 
subject; he had only arrived a few minutes before me, she 
said, and her ethnological faculties were not yet sufficiently 
developed to enable her to assign him with certainty to any 
nation whatever; but if I were so very curious, “nothing 
were easier than to take him the Fremdenbuch to fill up, 
where, without the least suspicion, he would instantly ex¬ 
pose both his country and his name.” Clever little Kell- 
nerinn ! “ Good ! ” said I, “ take him the Fremdenbuch, and 

if he turns out to be an Englishman tell him a countryman 
of his proposes mounting the Schafberg early to-morrow 


270 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


morning, and will feel proud to have the honour of his com¬ 
pany, should his intentions be the same, but that fatigue 
after a long day’s march prevents his paying his respects to 
him to-night; and, moreover, bring with the reply a well- 
stuffed omelette, bread and cheese, and a glass of beer, and a 
lump of deer-fat into the bargain wherewith to doctor some 
blisters.” In ten minutes the little maiden reappeared with 
the book in her hand. “ The gentleman was not an English¬ 
man, but was none the less pleased to accept my offer; 
indeed, he had already engaged a guide, and arranged to 
start at 6 o’clock; and if that were not too early for me, he 
would feel honoured by my joining him.” Clever little 
madclien again ! I had forgotten to tell her what to say in 
case the gentleman should not prove an Englishman, but 
she, it ajipears, had managed it better than I could have 
done, only I was now the obliged party. Returning a mes¬ 
sage in, the affirmative, in a very few minutes my supper was 
despatched, and in a much shorter time my personal self 
between the sheets. 

Sept. 11th. —My first introduction to my unknown com¬ 
panion was thus:—Our rooms happened to be on the same 
floor, with the doors almost facing each other, and, as chance 
would have it, each of us opened the door at the same 
instant to withdraw our boots, in the cautious manner usual 
on such occasions; but before either had fairly got his burden 
in his hand, each suddenly looked up at the other with that 
kind of expression which you may observe on the faces of 
two individuals previously unknown to each other, but whom 
a common accident all of a sudden brings together. The 
simple fact was, each found his burden other than he ex¬ 
pected. I was made aware at least, the moment I lifted mine 
from the ground, that it was something about one-quarter 
the size and weight I ought to have had, and judging from 
his look of amazement, he was no less taken by surprise. 
“ Mille pardons, Monsieur ! ” said I; “but might these be 
your boots?” “The same to you, sir; and possibly these 
may be yours?” said he. Not to carry the conversation 
further, in less than half a minute the mistake had been recti¬ 
fied, and our future acquaintance with one another set on a 


THE TYEOL. 


271 


satisfactory footing. He turned out to be a young German 
baron, and a most agreeable fellow. It was half-past 6 before 
we started, and a heavy fog was lying on the ground. A few 
minutes brought us to the base of the mountain, the Schaf- 
berg , that is—5,623 feet above the sea, 3,912 feet above the 
lake. We had alpenstocks with us, but the climbing was 
so simple and straightforward there was scarcely the least 
occasion for them; we found them more useful, perhaps, in 
coming down. We were about three parts of the way up, 
when, on looking backwards in the direction of the lake, a 
spectacle presented itself to me entirely novel. I had often 
seen solitary clouds floating beneath me, ’twixt earth and 
where I stood, but never before had I looked down on such 
a field of white vapour as now lay spread out before us—the 
whole valley, as far as we could see, with its villages and 
lakes, was completely enveloped in this dense mass of opaque 
white cloud, which was in reality the upper surface of the 
fog from which we had not long since emerged. Its appear¬ 
ance was soft and wavy, like a huge bed of down, but 
nowhere the least indication of a break, everywhere thick 
and impenetrable. It is a sight often witnessed, I believe, 
in Switzerland, and particularly from the Rhigi. 

In less than three hours after leaving the inn we were at 
the summit, where a certain individual has built a house 
with sleeping accommodation for sixteen people, and found 
it a very good speculation, I understand. Even on that 
morning, late as the season was, we met ten or a dozen 
visitors just leaving as we arrived; but one poor fellow, in 
that short night, had caught the fever; he had no guide 
with him, and had just commenced the descent alone, but 
his tottering step showed how unequal he was to it, and so 
we willingly gave up our guide to him. 

And now, while our orders for pancakes and wine are being 
attended to, we ascend the little platform at the back of the 
house, furnished with a powerful telescope and a large out¬ 
line map of the mountain ranges. The hour is about 10 A.M.; 
the sun is already high, and that mist, which a short time 
since looked as if nothing could pierce it, is already yielding 
to the force of his rays; in a short time not a vestige of it 


272 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


will remain. What a subject here, I thought, for the moralist 
or Christian philosopher to work upon ! What a beautiful 
allegory might be made, and often has been, no doubt, by 
comparing the effect of the solar rays on this obscuring 
vapour to that produced by the enlightening rays of the 
Holy Spirit on a soul clouded by the mists of doubt and 
error! But for reflections of such a nature my companion 
allowed me very little time, as, with the glass adjusted to 
the proper focus, and the map extended, he drew my atten¬ 
tion to a survey of the varied panorama before us, considered 
the finest in all Germany. When the atmosphere is perfectly 
clear, fourteen lakes may be seen, but to-day not more than 
five or six were visible ; yet, for the higher latitudes and the 
distant mountain ranges, we could hardly have had more 
favourable weather. Here, again, I saw assembled, for the 
last time, those dear old forms with which the past month 
had made me so familiar, many of them rendered still dearer 
to me from the recollection of the arduous, but well-rewarded, 
labour by which I had reached their summits, and still more 
by the warm associations of hospitality and good fellowship 
inseparable from them all. Gigantic Watzmann , with double 
peak and snow-rejoicing crest; hoary Dachstein and Eiviger 
Schnee; Steinernes Meer, bleak and dreary; brothers Tan- 
nengebirge and Hohe-Goll, combining to form that lovely 
Alpine pass, the Lueg; Gaisberg, too, humble in stature but 
in verdure rich,—honoured, moreover, far above many of your 
statelier brethren, for do you not receive daily visits from 
the fair ones of that fairest of cities, which, at this moment, 
you so cruelly shut out from my view ? Ay! What asso¬ 
ciations are connected with you! But Glockner and Vene- 
diger —mighty giants, eternal snow bedecks your brows— 
why are you not here P I mourn your absence; and yet my 
mind’s eye, wandering out into the dim far, has already 
brought you forward, and placed you where your rank befits, 
in the midst of this noble assembly. 

“Adieu to thee again! a vain adieu! 

There can be no farewell to scene like thine; 

The mind is coloured by thy every hue.” 


THE TYROL. 


273 


/ ■% 

Dear old hills! Even at this distance of 1,000 miles, and 
after a lapse of some years, I have you as clearly pictured to 
my memory as though I were among you. And here, ere 
the impressions pass, let me recall some few traits and pecu¬ 
liarities of that simple, nature-loving people, so closely linked 
with you. 

The most striking feature of all, perhaps, is their strict 
regard for religion and the ordinances of the Church; and 
yet I cannot hut remember that every fresh exhibition of it 
only impressed me the more with the pure formality and 
emptiness of their observances. They will frequently break 
off in the middle of their ordinary avocations to say Ave 
Marias while the church bell is ringing. Mid-day 
seems to be the time especially favourable to this duty. 
I have more than once seen a whole group, on the striking 
of the church clock, stop mechanically, as it were, in the 
middle of dinner, or throw down their hay-forks in the field, 
and, turning simultaneously towards the east, with raised 
hands repeat a stated number of Pater Nosters and Ave Marias , 
beginning and ending with the sign of the cross. On Sun¬ 
days, during the hours of mass and vespers, the churches are 
always filled. You may often walk through a small village 
and fancy it deserted till the church is reached, and there you 
will generally see the porch, and sometimes a portion of the 
churchyard, occupied by those who have been unable to find 
room inside; but still, wherever they are, going through the 
proper amount of genuflexions and crossings equally with 
the rest, guided probably by the tinkling of the altar bell 
from within, which announces the different stages in the 
ceremony before the wafer. 

From all such observations, and others it is unnecessary 
to record, I draw, briefly, the conclusion that the power of 
the priests over the people is far greater in the country than 
in the town. But apart from their religion, these people are 
characterised by a constant cheerfulness of disposition, in¬ 
dustrious habits (except, perhaps, on fete days), honesty in 
all their dealings, temperance, courtesy towards the stranger, 
although sometimes rather bluntly exhibited, and a ready 
willingness at all times to assist him on his way with infor- 


274 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


mation and advice. Another strong distinguishing feature, 
and wh’°h perhaps I should have mentioned first, is the love 
they have for their Emperor, though I am told in some parts 
this feeling is not so strong as it used to be. 

I have called the whole of this part of the Austrian do¬ 
minions the Tyrol, but in reality it is divided into several 
distinct provinces, of which the Tyrol, strictly so called, is 
but the south-west corner; the others are Salzburg , Salz- 
kammergut, Steyermark, and Kaerntlien. But the remarks I 
have made apply more or less correctly, I believe, to all, with¬ 
out exception. The trait, however, which above all renders 
the memory of the people dear to me is their warmth and sin¬ 
cerity in everything they say or do, a certain openness and 
simplicity which almost defy distrust; and if once or twice I 
have felt cause of suspicion, I am convinced now it was entirely 
without foundation. And then how welcome, to the pedestrian 
especially, are those hearty greetings on the road! Up to 
10 or 11 o’clock it is, “ Outen Morgen !” or, “ Guten Morgen 
ich wunsche Ilmen!” about that hour, “ Guten Tag!” and 
after, either “ Guten Naclimittag !” or “ Guten Abend !” This 
is the salutation of the young folks; the old have usu¬ 
ally a more lengthy form, the women particularly: with 
them it is frequently, “ Jesus Christies sei gelobt!” (“Jesus 
Christ be praised”), to which you, if you be a good Christian, 
reply, “In Ewigkeit, Amen!” (“In eternity, Amen!”) Or, 
perhaps, “ Griiss dich Gott !” (“ God greet thee !”) or, shorter 
still, something that sounds like “ Fur Gott!” in reality, a 
contraction for ‘ ‘ Beliiite dich Gott !” (“ God take care of thee! ”) 
Curtseying is unknown, but the old man will not seldom draw 
up at the side of the road at a distance of twenty yards 
from you, and wait respectfully with his hat in his hand to 
give a bow and a salutation as you pass. And then again, 
at those little inns where the night or part of the day has 
been sj)ent, if you have conducted yourself agreeably and 
been sociable, the whole establishment comes to the door on 
your departure, giving you the never-failing “ Gliickliche 
Reise !” accompanied by all sorts of good wishes. 

With regard to the people themselves, their physical 
frames and statures, I would say briefly of the men, that 


THE TYROL. 


273 


they are, for tlie most part, of a middle height, slenderly 
built, full of muscle and activity, and with a cast of feature 
between the German and Italian, if it need be particularised; 
of the women, that they belong to the stout and hardy, and 
yet I have seen many with faces that would have been 
attractive in any English drawing-room, but with hands and 
feet of such a nature that the less they are noticed the 
better. Such are these people, worthy habitants of one of 
the finest countries in Europe. Of Switzerland I have seen 
so small a portion, that I should hardly be justified in com¬ 
paring them; and yet I feel the Swiss would suffer in 
the comparison. Such as I found the Tyrolese, I should 
never refuse to echo almost any praise I heard in their 
favour. 

But all things must have an end, and so farewell, dear old 
mountains, and true-hearted people living among you. It 
may be a long, long time before we meet again; but, believe 
me, should that happy time ever come, no one could renew 
a short acquaintance with more real joy and pleasure than 
shall I! 

Having thus affectionately bid adieu to my old friends, I 
turned my attention to my newly-formed one, who reminded 
me that our pancakes must be ready; and he was right. A 
very few minutes sufficed to satisfy the appetite, and we 
were soon retracing our steps downhill towards the village 
from which we started, carrying on all the while a delight¬ 
ful running conversation, in which German, Erench, and 
English, had pretty nearly an equal share. 

We regained the Gasthaus, where we had left our knap¬ 
sacks, about 1 o’clock; and after drinking a bottle of wine 
and smoking a cigar together, walked down to the lake’s 
edge, chose each of us a separate boat, and parted in differ¬ 
ent directions, thus adding one more to the long list of my 
regretful short-lived acquaintances. None but those who have 
experienced it can tell the pain of parting from one in whom 
he has just begun to discover similar tastes and habits with 
himself, and whom he feels to be just the man he would 
choose for a friend; and yet by the progressive law of the 
mere traveller, although cards and hearty hopes for the IVitder- 


276 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


sehen be exchanged, he is aware that there is little likeli¬ 
hood of their ever meeting again ! 

In half an hour a hearty young damsel had conveyed me 
in a long narrow boat, scooped out of a single pine, to the 
village of Strobl , at the south end of the lake; from here 
I again got into the road by which I had come on the pre¬ 
vious evening, and followed it back to Ischl, reaching the 
Post inn soon after 5. I should have gone on to Ebensee the 
same evening, but the last Stellwagen had just started when 
I arrived; instead, therefore, I walked up the Calvarienberg , 
to get a view of the town, came back to the hotel, supped, 
and went to the theatre,—very diminutive, but exceedingly 
neat and pretty, and a capital miscellaneous performance 
before a very thin “house;” a great part of the Austrian 
gentry and nobility having taken flight only a few days 
previously, scared away by a large fire that destroyed two 
houses opposite the great hotel Kaiserin Elisabeth. 


CHAPTEE XXI. 

ISCHL TO PRAGUE, THROUGH LINZ AND BUDWEIS. 

Sept. 18th.—Stellwagen at 5 A.M. to Ebensee, on the lake of 
the same name; thence steamer across the lake to Gmunden , 
an hour’s passage. I am wrong, by-the-bye, in giving Ebensee 
as the name of the lake. I remember, it is called the Traun , 
or sometimes Gmundener See. The river Traun , after winding 
along the lovely valley between Ischl and Ebensee , runs into 
it close to that town. 

The lake is remarkably pretty, reminding me a little of 
that of Como , only very much smaller. Its chief feature is the 
huge Traunstein , a colossal black rock, towering upwards of 
4,000 feet above the surface of the water, and descending 
almost perpendicularly into it; the upper part is said 
to resemble, at a distance, the profile of Louis XYI. of 



ISCHL TO PRAGUE. 


277 


France. On board the steamer I made the acquaintance of 
a most agreeable lady and gentleman, who had nothing to 
do but to travel, “finding it particularly conducive to 
health,” they said. They had come out from Ischl for the 
day, proposing to get as far as the Traun Falls, and return 
the same evening. I intended also to see the Falls, as they 
lay in the way to Linz , which I was determined to reach 
that night; but I had been advised, instead of submitting to 
the miserably slow process of being dragged along a rail by 
horses at the pace of eight miles an hour, to avail myself of 
one of the salt-boats that run daily between Gmunden 
and Lambach, passing the Falls. I suggested this to my 
two companions, who seemed quite smitten with the novelty 
of the idea, and instantly fell in with it. 

As we reached Gmunden (half-past 9) they told us the 
boat we sought was on the point of starting. In five minutes 
we were alongside of it—a long, broad, flat-bottomed, plain 
deal barge, entirely unpainted, and filled with deal planks 
instead of salt. Such was the vessel, manned by a captain 
and half a dozen men, to which we confided ourselves and 
our effects. Two other gentlemen also accompanied us. 
The deal planks constituting the sole cargo of the boat were 
piled up considerably above its edge, and two or three were 
stretched crossways on the top to serve us for seats. Hav¬ 
ing tested their fitness for the purpose, arranged them 
according to our liking, and listened gravely to the injunc¬ 
tions of the captain to sit perfectly still when we came to the 
rapids, our boat was let loose from her moorings, and allowed 
to glide down the river at a pace varying, I suppose, from 
five to seven or eight miles an hour, carried along simply by 
the force of the current. The banks of the river in parts 
were excessively pretty, and numerous small trout were 
sporting in the shallow water. The passage of the rapids was 
glorious fun : there were seven or eight of them. They are 
simply narrow canals, with a sloping foundation, constructed 
in the middle of the river, and answering to our locks, I 
imagine : the slope causes the water to descend very rapidly, 
slightly bubbling and foaming at the bottom; and the barge 
rushes down it with a velocity that almost takes away your 


278 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


breath; the captain guides the rudder, and the men stand at 
the side with poles ready to check her the moment she shows 
too great an inclination for either one side or the other. The 
iast one, close to the Falls, is ten times longer and more 
rapid than any of the others; it must even be dangerous 
when the water is high; in length, it is but a few feet short 
of a quarter of a mile, and you get oyer this, or fly over 
it, I should say, in less than a minute. The sensation during 
the transit would be delicious, were it not for the undue de¬ 
mand upon the respiratory organs. The barges return empty 
up the stream, and are drawn through this canal by twelve 
horses at full gallop. 

Here I suffered a great disappointment. It was our in¬ 
tention to have quitted the boat at some convenient point 
near the Falls, and thence I should have walked to a 
little station near at hand, to proceed by rail to Linz , my 
friends returning by the same means to Gmunden. This 
would have enabled us to see the Falls well, and reach our 
respective destinations early in the afternoon ; as it was, we 
barely got a sidelong glimpse of them, as we shot by on the 
long rapid, not daring to turn our heads ; but we neither of us 
supposed for a moment that the stupid man would refuse to 
put us ashore. He said it was difficult, as he had no ropes 
to hold the boat, and he did not like to risk it without, 
although there were scores of places where we might easily 
have landed, even if he had but steered the barge for a 
moment up to the bank ; but he was obstinate : his boat, in 
fact, had sustained some damage in the last rapid, and this 
had annoyed him, so we had to suffer for it, and were carried 
on to Lambach, eight or ten miles farther. 

We arrived about 1 o’clock, too late to allow me to return 
to the Traun Fall by the road, and still catch the last train 
—at least, it was too much to risk ; I was, therefore, obliged 
to be content with the single glance at it, and left it to my 
two friends to do my share of the exclamations while gazing 
on it. They took a carriage from the ‘ ‘ Post” to Gmunden , with 
the understanding that they might stop at the Traun Falls on 
the way; and I, during the interval between their departure 
and the arrival of the train (5 o’clock), dined, and strolled 


ISCHL TO PRAGUE. 


279 


about to admire the little town, which is not altogether 
without interest. It has some really fine stately buildings, 
particularly an old Benedictine abbey, rich, I believe, in 
prints, manuscripts, and paintings, which I did not, how¬ 
ever, stay to see; I preferred walking to a little pilgrimage 
church outside the town, dedicated to the Holy Trinity, and 
curious from the threefold nature of everything connected 
with it: it is three-cornered, has three towers, is built of 
three different coloured marbles, and 333,333 florins were 
subscribed to defray the cost of it, of which a small remainder 
was distributed among 333 poor people. 

The trains between Lambach and Linz are drawn by loco¬ 
motives, the first portion of the line being at that time worked 
by horses ; but the speed is deplorable. It occupies nearly 
three hours, for instance, to do the above distance, about 
thirty miles. The rail runs over a monotonous country, 
totally devoid of interest, except, perhaps, at Weis, a town of 
some importance. There the rail traverses the whole length of 
the principal street, an idea so entirely subversive of all our 
notions with regard to railway travelling, that it affords just 
a temporary diversion. Arrived at Linz, I went direct to 
the poste, to see for my luggage, which had been lying there 
a fortnight. I had quite depended on getting it, that I 
might be enabled to go on by the 5 o’clock train for Budweis 
the next morning, in correspondence with a diligence for 
Prague, in which city I knew letters had been waiting 
for me upwards of three weeks, in consequence of my pro¬ 
longed ramble through Bavaria and the Tyrol; but the 
office was closed, and I was forced to spend the next day in 
Linz, which, as it turned out, I did not regret. 

Sept. 19 th .—Walked early on to the J'dgermeier Hill, and 
breakfasted there. This is said to be the finest point for 
overlooking the town ; at all events I was perfectly satisfied 
with it, and thought I had seldom seen a place with so 
charming an aspect; the windings of the Danube, too, 
among well-cultivated plains as far as the eye could reach, 
and the dim outline of the distant mountains faintly traced 
along the southern sky, form pleasant features in the land¬ 
scape beyond; while in the immediate neighbourhood of the 



280 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


town the most conspicuous objects are the circular bastions 
which surround it, to the number of thirty-two, placed at equal 
distances apart; they were erected by the Archduke Maxi¬ 
milian, in 1830-36, to replace the old fortifications; some 
are nearly three miles distant from the town, others only 
half a mile, but each communicates with its neighbour by a 
covered road. The chief fortress or citadel stands on a lofty 
hill—most of them, indeed, are on eminences—it consists 
of five of these round towers or bastions, from the centre of 
which, inconsistent or not, rises a handsome church. This 
point is half an hour’s walk from the town. I made two at¬ 
tempts to reach it in the afternoon, but was, on each occasion, 
driven back by rain. Linz has a fair proportion of fine build¬ 
ings, streets, and squares, but the rail, as in Weis, is a sad 
trespasser. The Landes Museum, in which I spent an hour 
or so, has a number of provincial curiosities, ancient armour, 
pictures, musical instruments, a library, a collection of birds 
and animals, and a mineral collection, all tolerably well 
arranged. The theatre is like that of Lschl, small and pretty ; 
of the performance I remember nothing. 

Sept. 20 th and ‘list. —A very few words shall sum up the 
proceedings of these two days, for a more tedious, un¬ 
interesting journey I never made than that from Linz to 
Prague ; it is but 160 miles—a journey of four or five hours 
in England—but there, with their horse-trains and crawling 
diligences, they contrive to lengthen it out to thirty-six. Thus, 
we started at 5 o’clock in the morning, and were not released 
till 5 the next afternoon. If that is not purgatory in a mild 
form, I should like to know what is. 

The eighty miles of rail between Linz and Budweis 
is traversed in fourteen hours—a disgrace to a civilised 
country; at the latter place, we, who unfortunately had paid 
our fares right through to Prague, were not allowed a 
moment to look about us or get anything to eat, but were 
hurried off, before we well knew where we were, to the 
vehicle that did not run on rails, but which started imme¬ 
diately, and in which those happy individuals who com¬ 
menced their journey from Budweis only, had long since 
ensconced themselves, leaving us only the uncomfortable 


PRAGUE. 


281 


middle seats. It was half-past 7 o’clock when we left Budiveis, 
and half-past 2 in the early morning before we were un¬ 
caged for supper at the principal inn of a small town in the 
middle of the great Bohemian plain. No wonder they cannot 
go coach pace when four jaded hacks are compelled to drag 
along a huge vehicle, not empty either, for seven continuous 
hours, without a single halt! 

All was bustle and activity at the inn, for a grand ball 
was being held in the saloon on the first floor, and we who 
were so fortunate as to get quickly served rushed eagerly for 
the remaining few and precious moments to the scene of 
action, not as partakers, of course, but simply spectators. 
Our pleasure was short-lived, for we had barely succeeded 
in squeezing ourselves through the motley assembly that 
choked up the outer precincts of the saloon, when the voice 
of the Kutscher sounded dismally on our ears, calling us to 
a renewal of our misery, from which we were not finally 
released till near 6 o’clock in the afternoon of that day. 
The country from one end to the other is one of the most 
monotonous and uninteresting in all Europe. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

PRAGUE. 

Sept. 22nd. —I had alighted at the Blauer Stern —did you 
ever see a blue star ?—considered one of the first hotels in the 
city. Its only recommendation to me was an excellent cuisine; 
but if you are at all particular about your bed-room, and 
love cleanliness, avoid it by all means. The Englischer Hof, 
a new one, is now the best, I’m told. 

I was supping last evening in the grande salle , which, as 
in most of the Austrian hotels, was also a restaurant; almost 
all the tables were occupied by strangers with more or less 
hail’ about the chin and upper lip; but a table in the centre, 
and the largest in the hall, had one solitary occupant, a 



282 


CONTINENTAL 'WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


robust and ratbor handsome young man, with modest pre¬ 
tensions to a beard and moustache, but by the bold, isolated 
position he had selected, and the air with which he called 
for the Kellner , I recognised immediately a worthy country¬ 
man of my own. We had been eyeing one another for some 
time in that kind of “ want-to-speak-and-don’t-like-to ” 
manner that usually precedes the verbal recognitions of two 
Englishmen, and I had just resolved to make the first 
advances the moment I had finished supper, when he rose 
and came direct over to the retired corner where I sat. 
Instead, however, of addressing me at once as I supposed, 
he commenced a close examination of a time-table almost 
immediately over my head, and asked me presently in the 
most purely casual way, in English, if I knew what time 
the trains left for Dresden. I understood well enough what 
such a question meant; the result, in short, was, that in 
less than a minute Dresden and its trains were forgotten, and 
at the close of half an hour or more we had wound up a 
miscellaneous conversation by agreeing to meet at 8 in 
the morning for breakfast, and afterwards to go out and kill 
the “ lions ” together. Of these I now proceed to give 
some account. 

Travellers are often apt to compare Prague to an oriental 
city; to me there is scarcely the shadow of a resemblance. 
Who ever saw an eastern city, for example, with streets 
like the Rossmarht and Kolowratstrasse, or, indeed, like any of 
the streets, or with a bridge bearing the most distant resem¬ 
blance to that inimital >le one over the Moldau ? There 
are numerous spires and domes, it is true, but have not 
Oxford and Cambridge and some other universities the same ? 
It is a fact also that some half-dozen of these spires are of 
a style remotely akin to the minaret, and this I believe is 
the only claim Prague has to such a comparison—a compa¬ 
rison, let me observe, after my short experience in eastern 
cities, which every European city careful of its reputation 
would do well to avoid. 

But if you wish really to enjoy Prague, ascend the 
cathedral tower, having previously stored your mind with 
the leading facts of its stirring history (of the city, I mean), 


PRAGUE. 


283 


and then you will look down on one of the most pic¬ 
turesque and interesting old towns Europe can boast. You are 
in what is called the Kleinseite, or small portion of the town, 
for it is divided into two unequal parts by the Moldau. You 
are also in the centre of that irregular mass of buildings 
called the Hradschin, the ancient palace of the Bohemian 
kings; but of the original one, built by Charles IY. in 
1353, three towers alone remain. The present structure was 
not completed till the middle of the last century; the ex- 
Emperor of Austria, Ferdinand, now holds his court there. 
Numerous palaces and stately mansions, once the proud 
residences of the old Bohemian nobility, are beneath and 
around you. In front, and still lower, is the Moldau , crossed 
by two magnificent bridges; to the right are the three lovely 
green islands, thronged by all classes during the summer 
evenings, Schutzen, Sophien, and Gross Venedig Inseln, on 
the first of which rests the suspension bridge; on the oppo¬ 
site side of the river lies the old town with its irregular mass 
of cupolas and minarets, if they must so be styled; their 
name is almost legion. Listen a moment, for instance, to 
an enumeration of the ecclesiasical buildings:—There are 
fifty-five Catholic churches and chapels, eleven monasteries, 
four nunneries, two Protestant churches, and ten syna¬ 
gogues. Just imagine three-fourths, at least, of all those, 
and a few other secular edifices besides, capped with domes, 
towers, or steeples, and you have some idea of the bristling 
aspect of the whole. The entire city is encircled by a low 
range of hills forming a basin-shaped valley, broken only 
where the tortuous Moldau has pierced its way. The natives 
call this part the “ kettlepan ” of Bohemia. 

Bastions and fortresses are scattered about over the various 
eminences, and there is scarcely one that is not connected 
with some sanguinary scene in history. Here took place, in 
the early part of the fifteenth century, those fierce struggles 
in the cause of Protestantism between the Hussites, with the 
blind chieftain Ziska at their head, and the Emperor Sigis- 
mond. Two centuries later the same cause made Prague 
the cradle of the Thirty Years’ War, during which the city 
was four times captured by Maximilian of Bavaria, in 1621, 


284 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


when Frederick V. was driven from the throne by the 
Elector of Saxony, John George, in 1631 ; retaken by 
Wallenstein, in 1632; and again by the Swedes, in 1648. 
Subsequently, towards the middle of the last century, it was 
occupied successively by the French and Bavarians under 
Marshal Broglio, by Prince Charles of Lorraine, by Frederick 
the Great, and again by Prince Charles. Few towns in 
Europe, I suppose, have changed masters so rapidly. 

But this is a digression. When we had spent a good half 
hour in giving vent to the expressions of delight and admira¬ 
tion which our elevated position, the purity of the morning 
atmosphere, and the beauty of the scene prompted, and had 
besides acquired a general notion of the relative positions of 
the different objects of interest, we came down to inspect 
them more nearly. 

The interior of the cathedral we had already seen. To do 
justice to it, it must be borne in mind that it was never com¬ 
pleted ; that it suffered shamefully, in common with many 
other churches, from Hussite ravages; and that, during the 
bombardment of the city by Frederick the Great, in the 
Seven Years’ War, it was riddled by upwards of 1,500 cannon¬ 
balls. With facts like these in his head, the expectations 
of the visitor on entering are not likely to be very sanguine; 
and yet he will find a sufficient number of old monuments 
and other curiosities to repay at least half an hour’s in¬ 
spection. 

Its chief ornament is a fine old mausoleum, erected by 
Budolph II., for himself, and many other Bohemian kings 
and princes. It is executed in white marble, by Colin, of 
Mechlin, a name which immediately brings to mind the 
Hof-kirche, at Innsbruck, where this artist has left a mag¬ 
nificent memento of his skill in that extraordinary series 
of bas-reliefs on the tomb of Maximilian. Another attrac¬ 
tive monument is the shrine of St. John Nepomuk, one of 
the most costly in the world, rivalling even that of San Carlo 
Borromeo, at Milan. A crystal coffin, enclosed in one of 
silver, contains the body of the saint, and these are borne 
aloft by angels almost as large as life, also of silver; mas¬ 
sive candelabra , above them other burning lamps, flying 


PRAGUE. 


285 


angels, and an infinity of ornaments, present to tlie eye one 
dazzling mass of pure solid silver. 

The death of this saint is fixed in the year 1383; the 
legend runs thus:—He was the popish confessor of the 
queen of King Wenceslaus IV., who, because he would not 
betray the secrets of the queen, ordered him to be thrown 
from the bridge into the river and drowned. During the 
three days succeeding this piece of barbarity a flame was seen 
to flicker on the surface of the water over the place where 
his body lay, and remained unextinguished till the river had 
been dragged and the body recovered. The spot whence he 
was thrown is still marked by a cross with five stars on the 
parapet, in imitation of the miraculous flame, and close by 
is a statue of the saint himself. He was not canonised till 
1729, and, in consequence of the circumstances attending 
his death, he has since become the patron of bridges in all 
Komanist countries. 

St. Wenzel, the patron saint of Bohemia, has, of course, 
his chapel and shrine here ; the walls of the former are richly 
inlaid with native amethysts, jaspers, and chrysoprase, serv¬ 
ing as borders to a series of remarkable ancient frescos. Of 
the numerous relics in the Schatzkammer , I can say nothing, 
because we could not afford to give the time necessary for 
their proper examination. To the curious and credulous, 
however, or to those who would feel flattered by having a 
canon of the church for their cicerone, the following list of a 
few of them, as it stands in “Murray,” may be acceptable :— 
“ Am ong the relics are portions of the bones of Abraham, 
Isaac, and Jacob, the Virgin Mary’s pocket handkerchief, a 
piece of the true cross, enclosing a bit of the sponge w T hich 
was placed on a hyssop, two thorns of the crown of thorns, 
one of the palm branches strewed in Christ’s way as He 
entered Jerusalem, besides an immense number of similar 
curiosities equally authentic and valuable.” Only imagine 
the privilege of residing in a city where such precious 
incentives to virtue and a holy manner of living are to be 
seen at all times ! Should you be one of the faithful, and 
therefore a visitor to this edifying collection, and should 
you still escape from the stern ordeal with thoughts and 


286 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


aspirations not too much elevated above sublunary matters, 
your next duty, as a strict “ lioniser,” would be to spend an 
hour or so over that portion of the Hradschin, which an 
“ Erlaubniss-Karte ” will permit you to see. For this we 
had neither time nor inclination, and were satisfied with 
being shown the spot on which the nobles Slawata and 
Martinitz, with their secretary Fabricins, fell. They were 
the two most unpopular members of the Imperial Govern¬ 
ment in 1618, and the Protestant nobles and deputies, think¬ 
ing, it may be presumed, that the best way to escape tyranny 
and intolerance was to get rid of the instigators to them, 
one fine day precipitated these three unfortunates from a 
window of the council-chamber, nearly eighty feet from the 
ground. This summary act of injustice, however, was de¬ 
feated by a dunghill which received the imperial counsellors 
as they fell, and saved their lives. Two obelisks now mark 
the spot. From this incident dates the commencement of that 
prolonged struggle known as the “ Thirty Years’ War.” 

We had shunned the labour of dragging ourselves through 
the ponderous and interminable apartments of the Hradschin , 
but felt it would be an omission of the gravest nature, to 
pass unseen the palace of the princely Wallenstein, the great 
hero of the above-named war. As is often the case, however, 
when expectations have been raised to an undue degree, 
we met with nothing but disappointment; in fact, we felt we 
had been completely under a delusion. Of the magnificence 
of a palace, furnished by a man, whose income is said to 
have exceeded six millions of dollars, and who was not spar¬ 
ing of his wealth, little or nothing remains. Indeed, the 
insignificance of the exterior, and its small dimensions, would 
almost lead one to doubt some of the accounts given of the 
stately splendour by which he was always surrounded, and 
the courtly retinue ever attendant on him—six barons and 
six knights constantly in his ante-chamber; his body-guard, 
consisting of fifty armed soldiers, all dressed in his own uni¬ 
form, standing in the outer-room ; six sentinels continually 
patrolling outside the building to keep out improper persons, 
and prevent noise or tumult from reaching his ears, for which 
he had the greatest dislike; sixty pages, of noble families, 


PRAGUE. 


287 


educated in his house, to wait upon him. His stables are said 
to have been ‘ ‘ profusely ornamented with precious marble; 
300 carriages and riding horses stood in them, and the animals 
were fed out of marble cribs ; when he went from home, 
fifty carriages, each drawn by four or six horses, conveyed 
himself and his suite ; fifty waggons carried his baggage, 
furniture, and cooking apparatus, which were followed by 
fifty of the finest led horses.” Where was the room for all 
this state ? Where were these marble stables ? and what has 
become of all the rich and costly furniture that once 
adorned those spacious chambers ? Of all this, the only 
remnants, or at least, all which strangers are permitted to 
see, are, “ an upper room, covered with fresco paintings; the 
small chapel adjoining, and on the ground-floor, a bath and 
an open arcade looking into a garden.” These last are rather 
fantastically decorated with grey plaster-work to imitate the 
stalactites of a grotto. The only relics of the great Wallen¬ 
stein are a bad portrait, and the favourite charger which bore 
him at Lutzen , stuffed. The garden is but a small enclosure, 
surrounded by a lofty wall, encrusted with plaster stalactites, 
as in the bath-room and arcade ; it has an aviary of unmis¬ 
takable antiquity, whose sole occupant, when we saw it, 
was the most superb peacock I ever beheld. 

WTiat we had seen was, of course, interesting; but there 
was so little of it, and it fell so far short of our expectations, 
that we walked away like two individuals who had been sub 
jected to imposition—who had given away their money and 
got nothing for it. We did not thoroughly recover from 
the effect till we reached the glorious old monumental 
bridge over the Moldau ; but the sight of that at once drove 
all else from our minds. It is one of those objects that, to 
be appreciated, must be seen, and trodden, and examined. It 
is a massive stone structure, begun under Charles IV., in 
1358, finished in 1507, and is celebrated as the longest in Ger¬ 
many ; it measures more than three-eighths of a mile, and is 
ornamented with twenty-eight statues and groupings of 
saints in stone, marble, and bronze. Some of these are 
finely executed, notwithstanding their early date ; the groups 
I thought surprisingly free from that harshness of outline 


288 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


and stiffness of composition that one expects to find in works 
of that date; and the general effect from the river, which wg 
crossed in the ferry-boat, in order to see it from that point 
of sight, is most picturesque. I doubt if it has its 
equal in Europe, of a similar style, that is to say; and as 
for its situation, and the lovely view it affords, there are few 
which can surpass it. The suspension bridge at Pesth, and the 
old bridge at Innsbruck , are the only two I can call to mind 
that will bear comparison with it in this respect. 

And while speaking of the bridge, I must not forget to 
notice the handsome monument to Charles IY., called Karls 
Denkmal , standing at the east end. He was the founder of 
the university, and to commemorate the 500th anniversary 
of this event the monument was erected, by subscription, in 
1848, at a cost of 60,000 florins(£6,000). It is acolossal bronze 
statue of the emperor, standing on a lofty Grothic pedestal, in 
the niches of which are figures, representing the four faculties 
—Theology, Philology, Jurisprudence, and Medicine; and 
at the angles are the sculptured portraits of four great men of 
Charles’s time. The emperor’s features are of the most benign 
and pleasing cast, though rather indicative, perhaps, simply 
of good humour and a happy disposition than of a great 
mind ; and yet he was one of the most liberal benefactors the 
city ever had. The attitude of the statue is perfect: nothing 
could possibly be more graceful and kingly. 

But to resume the narrative of our day’s proceedings. 
Having crossed the river in the ferry, and paid for the 
passage a sum equal to less than a halfpenny for both of us, 
we made a “ pilgrimage ” to the old Jewish synagogue ; for 
if with a pilgrimage be associated fatigue, hardship, and all 
kinds of disagreeables, then was ours indeed one; of all the 
labyrinths of dirty narrow streets, choked up with every 
kind of rubbish, and reeking with an atmosphere full of the 
most varied and indescribably objectionable odours, surely 
this through which we passed to reach the synagogue must 
be one of the worst in existence. No wretched alleys of 
London could possibly surpass it. 

This repulsive quarter is called the “ Judenstadt” being 
inhabited entirely by the Jews, who number here about 


PRAGUE. 


289 


8,000, and live sometimes eight or ten families in one house. 
Prague is one of the oldest settlements of the Jews in 
Europe. Traditions are even extant among them of their 
being established here in Pagan times, as slave dealers buy¬ 
ing and selling the captives taken in the wars of the bar¬ 
barians. It is, at least, certain that this was one of their 
earliest colonies, coeval, probably, with the foundation of 
the city. Unfortunately for Christianity, one is obliged to 
add, that their page in its history, until within the last few 
years, has been but a long series of intolerance, persecution, 
extortion, and every manner of cruelty. This has kept them 
apart from the rest of the inhabitants. At one time their 
quarter was like a distinct city, with gates that were closed 
every evening at 8 o’clock; these are now removed, and 
many of the wealthier Jews have houses in the new town. 
They still retain, however, more than in most other parts of 
Europe, their ancient manners, customs, and institutions, 
having, besides several synagogues and schools, a town-hall 
and magistrates of their own, by which the affairs of the 
community are managed. After threading for half an hour a 
perfect maze of unwholesome lanes and alleys, full of all 
kinds of abominations, and more than once narrowly escap¬ 
ing a blow from the hatchet of some man chopping fire¬ 
wood in front of his door, the almost universal occupation at 
this season of the year, the reward of our perseverance at 
length stood before us—the oldest synagogue, and the most 
wretched, miserable little specimen of a temple my eyes 
ever looked upon—a low, dingy, tumble-down exterior; and 
from the state of the interior, one would almost suppose 
that dust, smoke, and cobwebs were divine institutions, and 
that to interfere with either of them would be an act of the 
highest sacrilege. “ Cleanliness is next to godliness,” is an 
old maxim, but not a Jewish one evidently. The “ higgle¬ 
dy-piggledy” arrangement of the pews is very singular; 
and the columns for so small a building are preposterously 
large. The sexton assured us it had been in existence 1,200 
years, and that 900 years ago it was excavated from the 
earth; how long it had been buried, in what way, or for 
what reason, I could not understand; but that at one time 

U 


290 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


or other it has either sunk, or that earth has accumulated 
around it, is at least probable, from the exceedingly low 
doors, and the steps leading down from them into it. 

Notwithstanding there are several other synagogues, all 
larger and more commodious, I believe, than this, and with¬ 
out a doubt cleaner, yet such seems to be their faith in dirt 
and antiquity, that this dismal little sanctuary, with its 
smoke-begrimed, cobweb-curtained ceiling and walls, is still 
their favourite place of worship, and daily services and high 
ceremonies continue to take place in it. In some of the 
latter, lamps and torches are burnt for several days and 
nights without intermission; no wonder, therefore, the place 
has such a gloomy smoke-dried appearance. 

The old burial-ground, which we next visited, is a small 
enclosure in one of the dirtiest parts of the Jews’ quarter, 
surrounded by high walls, and completely choked up with 
graves and tombstones. These lie scattered about so irregu¬ 
larly, some leaning one against the other, others lying flat 
on their faces, and others meeting the ground half way, that 
one would imagine their gravity must have been upset at 
some distant epoch by a violent subterranean emotion. The 
generality of the tombs consist of a simple narrow slab of 
sandstone; a few belonging to the rabbins and higher 
classes are ponderous mausoleums with sloping roofs. Little 
heaps of small stones are piled up on the top of them, marks 
of respect from the deceased’s friends. Many have carved 
on them symbols of the tribe to which the dead belonged. 
Levi, for instance, is known by the pitcher; Aaron by two 
clasped hands. A number of withered elder trees are inter¬ 
spersed among these tottering monuments, giving a most 
singular and grotesque aspect to the whole. 

When we had properly examined these two relics of the 
past, there was no object of sufficient interest to detain us 
a moment longer in so undesirable a locality; we passed 
quickly out of it, therefore, into the old town, and direct to 
our hotel, to take an early dinner. On the way we just 
peeped into the Theinkirche to have a look at the grave of 
Tycho Brahe, the great Danish astronomer, who lived and 
died here during the reign of the Emperor Budolph II. His 


PRAGUE. 


*2 ( J1 

tomb is marked by a rude red marble effigy, in relief, against 
the wall, bearing his motto, “ Esse potius quam haberiP The 
service of this church is in the Bohemian language—the 
greater part of the population speak nothing else; although 1 
should feel disposed to doubt the assertion in “Murray” that 
one-sixth only speak German. It is a noble language, the 
Bohemian, of the same root as Russian, Polish, and Sla¬ 
vonic, I believe; to hear it spoken by educated people, it is, 
next to Greek, and Italian, and Spanish, one of the most 
euphonious I have heard. 

Opposite this church is the Bath hems (town-hall), an in¬ 
teresting and very historical Gothic edifice ; only a small 
portion of the old building has been preserved, including 
the projecting oriel window belonging to the chapel, a per¬ 
fect little gem of florid tracery. The interior, I believe, would 
repay a visit, but we could not spare time to examine it. 

At the restaurant of the Blauer Stern we had as good a 
dinner as I should wish to eat at two shillings a head—soup, 
fish, meat, game, chicken, pastry, and dessert, all of the very 
best kind, and cooked in the most savoury and delicious 
manner. Plow they can afford to furnish such a table I 
cannot understand. You are not expected to take wine; 
and unless this is ordered, beer is drunk, and very good 
beer it is; almost everybody consumes it, so you need not be 
afraid of being singular in asking for it. I should say Prague 
is one of the cheapest towns in Europe to live in. 

The ceremony of dinner did not occupy us more than 
an hour, and there was yet time ere the sun went down 
for another stroll over the old bridge. To it, then, we 
directed our steps, examined each monument anew, turned 
our gaze on this side and on that, taking in again and again 
the two reaches of the river, looking up with awe and admi¬ 
ration at the vast Hradschin and its adjacent palaces, rising 
one above the other up the slope of the hill, and backed by 
a broad rim of rich gardens, shrubberies, and suburban 
villas ; conspicuous among the latter is the pretty pavilion, 
called, incorrectly, the Observatory of Tycho Brahe. Facing 
all this are the main features of that part of the city we had 
just left; being much more level than the opposite side, it 


292 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


would be difficult to recognise the position of anything, were 
it not for the innumerable spires shooting upwards like so 
many quills on the back of a porcupine, and with the pecu¬ 
liar shapes of some of which we had already made a closer 
acquaintance. Under the influence of this clear autumnal 
atmosphere, infused with a roseate tint from the rays of the 
sinking sun, it was all like some enchantment—a scene of 
fairy-land; and no wonder if the natives themselves, as they 
passed us, struck with our enthusiasm, paused for a moment 
to enjoy a sight which few of them probably had ever looked 
on for that purpose before in their lives, and possibly never 
would but for us. 

In the happy sense, therefore, of having rendered a ser¬ 
vice to others while we were gratifying ourselves, we con¬ 
tinued our walk up the hill, passing under the walls of the 
Hradschin and other stately mansions, and intending to get 
on to the Laurenziberg to see a famous monastery, and catch 
a glimpse of the sun’s disc before he dropped behind the 
hills; but, unfortunately, we lost ourselves in a most im¬ 
portant and deeply interesting conversation on the incon¬ 
sistencies of the Romish Church, and, par consequent, had 
wandered a long way out of the right road before there was 
time to rectify it; we were upon a hill, it is true, but 
when we looked round we could see nothing of the monas¬ 
tery, and nothing of the town; we were, in fact, on a fiat 
eminence considerably to the left of either of them, and 
must have gone round the Laurenziberg to reach it. Some 
rifle-cracks enticed us down into a quarry, where a score or 
so of riflemen were practising at a stone target at a distance 
of about fifty yards, a little man stationed near the target 
with a horn, blowing himself almost into fits each time the 
bull’s-eye was struck. They broke up soon after our arrival, 
and we followed them down into the town, feeling, for our 
own parts, in a state of considerable mystification as to its 
whereabouts, and it was already getting dark. Our guides 
of the invisible green brought us out opposite the Ketten- 
briicke, which, after paying our toll of half a farthing a piece, 
we crossed, and in ten minutes more were discussing coffee 
and cigars in the “ Blue Star.” 


PRAGUE. 


293 


It is to be a musical evening, and the handsome saloon of 
the “ Blue Star” is soon filled by travellers of many nations, 
with a fair sprinkling of Austrian officers, and their belles 
amies ; most are supping a la carte , some few, like ourselves, 
sipping coffee, and all talking in half a dozen different 
tongues as fast and as loud as though each was the sole occu¬ 
pant of the room. Soon after 8 o’clock the music struck 
up, and produced a temporary lull in the buzz, but only 
to be resumed more fiercely during the intervals between 
each piece. Music is all very well at a large public restau¬ 
rant, where everybody may do just as he pleases ; but to 
give music to travellers at an hotel where they only stay a 
night, is almost a superfluous indulgence—at all events 
there must be nothing of the sentimental or classic in it 
to make it welcome. Give them polkas, waltzes, jigs, if 
you like, but do not interfere with their tongues. Travellers 
have too much to talk about to listen to sonatas and 
symphonies, and regal’d such as waste of time. This at 
least seemed to be the mind of our present company, for 
after enduring with tolerable patience the first two or three 
pieces, they gradually grew careless of attending to them, 
and at last showed no more respect for the periods of music 
than for the intervals between them; the noise, to our ears, 
augmenting every moment, and resolving itself finally into 
one prodigious battle of tongues. Conceive our delight, 
then, when one of the Kellners, a sharp, wicked-looking 
little fellow, presuming on a slight acquaintance with 
English, and suspecting, I suppose, from our looks, that we 
were not quite content with our actual condition, came up 
to us, and offered to show us something like life, if we would 
only follow him. Of course we would, anything to escape 
from such a concert; we had not far to go,—simply to cross 
the court-yard of the hotel to its back premises, and there, 
in a range of three small rooms, was an assembly that we 
saw would very soon afford us amusement enough. It was 
a sight I had seen more than once before, but quite a no¬ 
velty to my companion, who vowed, when it was over, that 
it was the best fun he had seen in his life ! It seemed as 
though all the waiters and servant-girls from the neighbour- 


294 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


ing inns, ancl many others of a less aristocratic rank be¬ 
sides, had crammed themselves together in those three small 
rooms, to eat, drink, and be merry. A light cavalry band, 
composed of Hungarians and Bohemians, passing through 
the town, and quartered for the night at the hotel, had voted 
a score of their company for the gratuitous entertainment of 
this respectable assembly. Any one who has once seen 
such a gathering can imagine, far easier than I can describe, 
what kind of a scene the above combination would produce. 
Music and beer would of course be the life and the soul of 
it; yes, music and beer,—a singular association, but always 
to be found together in Austria and Germany, and not con¬ 
fined to the lower ranks either. 

And now, what will be the use of my attempting to 
give the remotest idea of the hilarity of that night—of the 
universal hubbub and merriment therewith—of the happy 
faces and sparkling eyes that met one at every turn—of 
Marie’s sly glance as she took the tankard from "Wilhelm’s 
hands, and lifted it to her ruby lips, to sweeten it before 
he drank—of the good-natured band of musicians, and of 
the glorious music they played — of the enthusiasm and 
repeated encores of the audience at some wild melody or 
favourite national air, selected, be it remarked, specially for 
the entertainment of the two milords, who had expressed a 
wish to hear something national and characteristic, and who 
had placed themselves patronisingly in a conspicuous posi¬ 
tion near the band ? Bemember, too, that the Hungarians 
and Bohemians, of whom it was composed, are the two most 
musical people in Europe. Or again, how convey to you 
the faintest notion of the wonderful way in which the natives 
danced to everything—slow movements and quick, marches, 
jigs, or sentimental airs, nothing seemed to come amiss ; 
some there were who had a step for everything:—or of our 
slim little elastic friend, the Kellner, whose toes were never 
at rest, the pride of all the lassies, and the best dancer in 
the room? or how describe the movements of that huge 
mountain of flesh, the worthy proprietress of the establish¬ 
ment—huge beyond all mortals I ever saw, and yet not 
lacking activity; for did she not seem to be here, there, and 


PRAGUE. 


295 


everywhere in the twinkling of an eye P one moment dis¬ 
appearing at the door, the next returning with hands full 
of foaming mugs; now lashing with her wit the imperti¬ 
nences of some coxcomb, the next minute whirling round 
the room in the faint embrace of some slender stripling: 
and then, when her favourite dance did come round, where 
was the girl, or woman, that could outdance her P Others 
might pant, and pause, and crave a moment’s rest, but no, 
not she ! On ! on ! on ! till the music ceased, you saw that 
vast mass, that solid lump of humanity, revolving and re¬ 
volving ; and you supposed that the feeble axis round which 
she revolved must be always there, although it was only 
now and then you could catch a glimpse of him; and when 
she finally dropped him, was it not the most melting mo¬ 
ment of his existence ? Thus does she punish the pre¬ 
sumption of youthful aspirants : none is more courted than 
she,—the number of her admirers is legion, for, it is whis¬ 
pered, she is rich, and a widow ! 

And thus she went flitting about—that ponderous spirit 
of the ball— she thought it no sin to be stout, and laughed 
and smiled sweetty on all. At midnight, with our eyes full 
of smoke, we departed, not sorry to get to bed, after three 
hours’ endurance of “ life ” in Prague. Three hours “ off the 
reel ” was no joke ! 

September 23rd. —This morning we should have been off 
to Dresden by an early train, but it was too late when we 
got down stairs to catch it without much hurry, and there 
was no other till the middle of the day, which, in fact, 
greatly pleased me, for I felt I could not leave without 
going to have one more look at that glorious old bridge. 
There was, besides, a museum to see; and the Loreto chapel, 
said to be an exact copy, within and without, of the famous 
wandering house of Loreto. The original, as all pious Ro¬ 
manists are well aware, was formerly the property of the 
Virgin Mary, at Nazareth; until one fine day towards the 
end of the thirteenth century, growing more and more in¬ 
consolable I suppose for the loss of its spotless mistress, 
and feeling probably that she was more honoured in the 
lands of the west than in her own country, it took flight 


296 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


westwards, depositing itself on the Dalmatian coast. Three 
years subsequently, it skips oyer the Adriatic, in the middle 
of the night, and alights upon a grove near Loreto , and 
then changes its position three times before it reposes on 
the site it now occupies. To it — to this precious Santa 
Casa —have flocked the faithful of every country, and of every 
rank. During five long centuries, no spot in all Christen¬ 
dom has been more devoutly adored, no shrine more nume¬ 
rously visited. Is it not really a scandal to this enlightened 
age, that such false idols should be allowed to exist ? And 
what opinion must be formed of a Church that persists in 
maintaining them and upholding their sanctity P Of this 
one here, in imitation of the great original, I remember 
little, except that I thought it an imposture. In the Mu¬ 
seum is an interesting collection of Bohemian antiquities ; 
among them a curious old weapon amused us immensely; it 
was one used by Ziska’s troops, with which they literally 
thrashed their enemies —threshed them if you will— i.e. it 
was in the shape of a flail, bound with iron, and the short 
end bristling with spikes—imagine what a picturesque body 
of men a regiment of threshers would make ! Besides these 
were many very valuable and interesting manuscripts ; 
above all, the autograph challenge of John Huss, affixed to 
the gates of the University, offering to dispute the points of 
his belief with all comers. The natural history collection 
and fossils appear good and well arranged. 

I had almost forgotten to say anything of the University; 
its history is a sad tale, for after being one of the foremost 
and largest in the world, it has gradually sunk into low me¬ 
diocrity. It was the first established in Germany, consisting 
originally of eight separate colleges, and giving instruction 
at one time to 40,000 students—so at least say the chronicles 
of the period when John Huss was its rector. Students 
from all countries frequented it, many English among the 
rest, who brought with them the writings of Wickliffe and 
his translation of the Bible, thereby kindling a spark which 
soon spread all over Germany, and which a century later 
burst forth into a flame in the glorious Beformation of 
Luther. Some measures proposed by Huss, curtailing the 


PRAGUE. 


297 


privileges of foreigners, are said to have produced “ in one 
week, the secession of 25,000 students, who dispersed them¬ 
selves over Europe, and became the founders of the uni¬ 
versities of Leipzig, Heidelberg , and Cracow .” The present 
building, called the Carolinum, from Charles IV., its 
founder, is of vast extent, but not otherwise remarkable, I 
believe. 

The Clementinum, close to the old bridge, is another enor¬ 
mous edifice belonging to the University, containing some 
magnificent halls, a library of 100,000 volumes, manuscripts, 
and a host of relics and curiosities, none of which we were 
able to see. 

Of the numerous churches of Prague, I have only men¬ 
tioned two, because we saw no more, and, in fact, few others 
of any antiquity are now worth examination, owing to 
the sacrilegious practices of the followers of Huss. What 
volumes might not be written of the deeds of those mis¬ 
guided fanatics, and of their giant chieftain, the blind 
Ziska ! he who, at the head of 150,000 men, bid defiance to 
the Emperor Sigismond, and at length defeated him in a 
pitched battle before the city walls, in 1420 ; and he who is 
said to have taught Europe the art of fortification as it now 
exists. Specimens of his skill are yet to be seen in the old 
ramparts and fortresses that surround Tabor, the great 
stronghold of the Hussites, in the centre of the Bohemian 
plain, which, together with a hill just behind, christened 
Horeb, and a pond not far off called the Jordan, having seen 
only from the window of a diligence at 4 o’clock in the morn¬ 
ing, through the medium of a dense fog, I would rather not 
particularly describe. What volumes might not be written, 
&c., &c. ! but having already, in speaking of Prague, far out¬ 
stripped the limits of a journal like this, and having more¬ 
over almost, if not quite, exhausted my scanty stock of in¬ 
formation, I will only remark further that, in taking fare¬ 
well of that noble old bridge, and the stately edifices that 
look down upon it, I felt ashamed to know so little of 
the past history of a town which seems to me one of the 
most interesting in Europe, and resolved to make myself 
better acquainted with it on the first opportunity. 


298 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


Away then from that venerable city — away from that 
country of plains, and of beautiful hills too, of fish-ponds 
innumerable, of game inexhaustible—away to the North— 
to the land of'the Saxons — to Dresden — Florence of the 
North ! Yes, very true ! but what argument is that, pray, 
for making the transit between it and Prague one of the 
slowest and most wearisome in all Germany ? Pancy taking 
eight hours and a half to travel 115 miles ! not by the express, 
I allow, but yet by steam,- and rails, and a train that starts 
between 1 and 2 o’clock in the day, and does not arrive till 
after 9 at night. You wonder how they can possibly contrive 
to lengthen out the time, but it is just in this way:—there 
are about a score of little stations, and at each one they halt 
five minutes, at some more, at some less, for no other purpose, 
so it would appear, but to eat, drink, and make a noise. The 
feasting proclivities of these Germans are really humiliating 
to contemplate ! One would think they lived for nothing 
else, and had illimitable powers of digestion. At Bodenbach, 
by-the-bye, the frontier town, we stopped an hour to have 
the luggage examined; but the officers were most civil, 
and the soup at the restaurant was first-rate, and not to 
be despised on a cold night like that on which we were 
there. Soon after leaving this station, the rail enters the 
romantic district of Saxon Switzerland, following for some 
distance the course of the Elbe; but it was dark when we 
passed through it, and, as I spent three whole days in 
exploring it afterwards, nothing need be said about it 
here. 


CHAPTEB XNIII. 

DRESDEN. 

Dresden is one of those places where a companion is a real 
necessity—I do not believe it is to be properly seen or 
enjoyed without one ; even those gloomy long-haired artists 
who pass their existence in picture galleries, for ever making 
notes, and disdaining to share an opinion with another, they 



DRESDEN. 


299 


must fain relax a little in a place where society and pleasure 
alone are recognised. It is one of those places where gaiety 
and sociability are infectious ; so if you do not intend to lay 
aside your solitariness for a while, depend upon it you have 
no business there. 

Before I go a step farther, therefore, allow me briefly to 
introduce to you my acquaintances. One you already know 
"—my companion at Prague—a Mr. Gr. C.—young, tall, 
handsome, and an enthusiastic admirer of the fine arts ; his 
uncle, Major P. II., to whom he introduced me the moment 
we arrived at the hotel—an old East Indian officer—colossal 
in stature, a large amount of coarse fringe, iron-grey, on the 
upper lip, shaggy eyebrows, spy-glass in constant use, and 
furrowed brow consequent thereon—on the whole rather a 
fierce-looking old warrior, somewhat given to grumbling, 
but a very agreeable companion withal—humorous, full of 
anecdote, and equally with his nephew a lover of art. 
No. 3 is a Mr. S., a voice from the Temple, or Lincoln’s 
Inn, I forget which, but simple and witless to a degree— 
one of those unfortunate individuals who must have been 
the butt and toy at every school he went to, as he is now of 
every society he enters. These three were my almost con¬ 
stant companions during the happy fortnight I spent in 
Dresden. 

We were staying at the same hotel, the Brittischer Hof, and 
had all made the same arrangements with the proprietor— 
two thalers a day inclusive, with permission to drink beer 
instead of wine at the table-d' hute, on condition that we paid 
five instead of two and a half gros. per pint glass. I shall 
not easily forget the comfort of that hotel, the long, clean, 
well furnished bedrooms on the third floor, the promptness 
and civility of the young waiters, the perseverance of one of 
them in learning English, and his desire to come to England, 
the propriety of the salle-a-manger, and the select circle of 
guests at its table-d’’hate —the Russian princess and her two 
pious guardians, who never began or ended a meal without 
reverently making the sign of the cross; the Russian 
counsellor with his wife and dark-eyed sister; the clergy¬ 
man and his quiet family, who were always going into lodg- 


300 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


ings and yet never did go ; little Mr. E. and his two female 
satellites, for ever trying to entrap somebody into their party 
to share the fee for the Japanese Palace, the Griine Gewolbe, 
or the Riist-Jcammer; Mr. W., the barrister, whom the Kellners 
would persist in calling Mr. Veek, and who was continually 
abusing the great Madonna di San Sisto in favour of that 
incomprehensible picture of Holbein’s which he considered 
the highest specimen of art existing; and last, and by no 
means least, the fat Dutch captain, a resident in Dresden of 
four years’ standing, and who, with a small circle of friends, 
was never absent from our 3 o’clock table-d' hole, having 
tried every other in the capital, and at length decided that 
none was better or more reasonable than ours ; you would 
have thought from the way he talked about it that gas¬ 
tronomy was the sole study of his life. 

Besides the three whom I have specially mentioned as my 
companions, several Oxonians and Cantabs were frequently 
of our party: they come here in great numbers to learn 
German before taking a commission in the army. I shall 
never forget one of them, a raw young hot-brained Irishman, 
who boasted of having knocked down a waiter at Cologne 
because he could not understand plain English, and whose 
acquaintance with the German language before leaving 
England was confined to the two words, nach Dresden , which, 
in order to make sure of going direct to his destination, he 
shouted out to all the guards at every station, but un¬ 
fortunately omitted to do so at one of the junctions, and got 
carried nearly to Hamburg before he discovered his mistake. 
At the cafes in Dresden he would often walk right up the 
centre of the room when everybody else was seated, and pose 
himself in front of the band for the admiration of all the 
beholders; sometimes, if he saw a Kellner with his hands 
particularly full, he would call him up to him and ask change 
for a groschen, without the slightest intention of ordering 
anything. These, and many similar audacities that I could 
relate, did this young sprig of the Green Isle perpetrate ; 
but I must hasten on to say something of the “lions” of 
Dresden. 

First and foremost comes that marvellous gallery of 


DRESDEN. 


301 


pictures; and whether the collection is really better than 
those in the Italian galleries, and a greater variety of schools 
is represented, or that my taste was more cultivated, and I 
was beginning in a degree to appreciate the old masters, 
or that I had so many companions to compare notes with, I 
certainly enjoyed it far more than any I ever saw in Italy, 
or, indeed, than any I have since visited. Who that has 
once seen it can ever forget that wonderful composition of 
Raphael’s—the Madonna di San Sisto ? Many think it his 
masterpiece, ranking it even above the great “ Transfigura¬ 
tion ” in the Vatican. People sit by the hour in front of it; 
it has a room to itself, and is encased in a huge, highly- 
decorated frame, which I thought rather detracted from 
than added to its excellence ; such a work needs no gold and 
silver to enhance its worth. As you sit down on that 
cushioned sofa, and give yourself up to the influence of 
those lovely forms, you soon forget that others are similarly 
engaged. 

Unlike most pictures, you feel it is a feast—I hardly know 
how to express it—too sacred, I would say, to share with 
another human being; you must enjoy it alone, and in your 
own way; it throws you back upon yourself, and draws out 
those thoughts and sympathies which only visit you in your 
most solemn moods, and you cannot go away from it with¬ 
out feeling for the time, at least, a better man. There is an 
unfathomable depth of meaning in the expression on the 
pure features of the Virgin, communicating itself in an 
even more marked degree to the young Child, between 
whom and herself there exists so mysterious a resemblance. 
Raphael must greatly have scandalised some of the strict 
members of the Church of Rome, when, contrary to custom, 
and perhaps without precedent, he dared to put more divi¬ 
nity into the face of the infant Saviour than into that of the 
Virgin Mary herself; this, which is more or less apparent 
in the majority of Raphael’s pictures where the Holy Family 
is introduced, is, I think, one of the great points wherein 
he excels all other artists. The two little cherubs looking 
up from the bottom of the picture are perfect; they evi¬ 
dently have no connection with this world, still less with 


302 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


that below; ergo, unless they belong to an intermediate 
one, they have come down from the one above, and they look 
ready at any instant to fly up and join the heavenly choir 
that encircles the head of the Virgin. St. Sixtus is an 
admirable figure, a noble specimen of pure, unmixed de¬ 
votion. St. Barbara, on the opposite side, is the only break 
upon the harmony of the whole—the only object, which to 
my fancy, does not quite accord with the religious nature of 
the subject. She has too much the appearance of a pretty 
young girl who has posed herself to have her portrait taken— 
a peculiar simper hangs about the lips, as though some young 
man had just been paying her a compliment, and she were 
trying to refrain from a recognition of it. The curtains, of 
that ugly green colour Raphael was so fond of, drawn across 
the top of the picture, and the Pope’s mitre on the ground, 
however expressive of that old gentleman’s humility, are 
unquestionable objections. This, of course, is only my own 
idea; good judges, I believe, will tell you there is not a 
fault to be found with it. With regard to its condition, 
from what I had heard, I expected to find it in a state similar 
to that of Leonardo’s celebrated Coenacolo ; the colours have 
certainly faded, but not in any very serious degree, and a 
partial restoration it has lately undergone by a very clever 
artist gives, at all events, a slight conception of what it 
must have been the day it issued fresh from Raphael’s 
own hands. 

Now walk on through the long vista of small cabinets, 
where the light is very badly distributed, until you reach 
the corresponding room to that in which the ‘ ‘ San Sisto ’ ’ 
stands, at the other end of the gallery. Here you are 
brought face to face with Holbein’s great work, and you 
will probably wonder how any one can ever have ranked it 
as a work of art above that I have just been describing. 
It is no doubt a marvel of detail and finish, and quite an 
age in advance of Holbein’s other compositions, but it is 
the conception I object to;—you do not know what it all 
means, in fact, nobody seems to know; the catalogues 
themselves are at variance as to which is intended for the 
infant Saviour,—the sickly-looking child in the Virgin’s 


DRESDEN. 


303 


arms, or the robust little fellow on the ground. The figures 
are all of one mould, and of that repulsive, angular, Dutch type 
of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and yet, notwithstand¬ 
ing this, the Virgin is a lovely figure, and full of dignity— 
the old man, too, would be a not unworthy companion for 
“ San Sisto ,” but the three female figures kneeling in a row 
are execrable. The colours of this picture are in a wonder¬ 
ful state of preservation, and it is generally considered the 
second best in the collection. But to do anything like jus¬ 
tice to the many remarkable pictures in this gallery, I 
should have to draw to an unjustifiable amount on the 
reader’s patience, and as I bought a catalogue with a wide 
margin, of which I did not fail to make good use, I gladly 
spare them any more of my commonplaces. Moreover there 
is much else to be seen in Dresden, besides its picture gallery: 
there are the world-renowned Griine Gewolbe, (green vaults), 
whose wonderful collection of rare and costly objects of 
art and taste is estimated at several millions of pounds 
sterling. 

The Saxon princes were formerly among the richest of 
the sovereigns of Europe, deriving an enormous revenue 
from the Freiberg silver mines; and with this wealth they 
were continually heaping together the rarest specimens of 
workmanship in the precious metals, and numerous articles 
of vertu inlaid with the most costly jewels ; these they trea¬ 
sured up in secret vaults beneath their palace, and, under a 
more enlightened race, they are now exhibited to the public 
in a series of eight rooms; it is a dazzling sight, and to 
those who admire such displays, must be a perfect feast. 
One long case alone, filled with rich suits and orders 
adorned with some hundreds of precious stones and dia¬ 
monds, must be worth millions of dollars. Many of the 
objects, too, are not half appreciated at a first glance, or 
without some explanation. In the apartment where the 
diamonds are shown is a piece of work by Dinglinger, re¬ 
presenting the Court of the Great Mogul. There are in all 
138 little figures, which you imagine at first to be simply of 
enamelled ware, until after examination, and with the aid 
of a little of that faith so indispensable to an orthodox 


304 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


sight-seer, you learn that they are all of pure gold, enamelled; 
and then you will not be astonished at the statement that 
they cost the artist eight years of his life’s constant labour, 
and the elector near £20,000. To enumerate one hundredth 
part of the curiosities we saw there would be by far too 
long; and I might just say en passant that, for exhibitions of 
this kind, a single visit always suffices me. 

Then there is that old Japanese Palace, with its dingy 
collection of antique china. I never grudged money more 
than the Is. Qd. it cost me to see that. The Rust-kammer , 
or collection of ancient armoury, is something really worth 
seeing, and for that I paid nothing ; but its extent, and the 
multitude of objects deserving of note, forbid me from 
entering into a particular account of it. It will be enough 
to say that it is one of the finest in Europe, leaving the 
armoury at the Tower of London a long way behind. 

In point of architecture Dresden is a poor city; the only 
noteworthy edifices form rather a handsome group in a large 
area between the Royal Palace and the river. There is 
the new part of the Zwinger, somewhat resembling the 
Pitti Palace at Florence , and containing the picture gal¬ 
lery; the large theatre, one of the finest in Germany, 
and at which I saw Davison, the great tragedian, take 
the part of King Lear; and there is the Hof Kir die, the 
only Roman Catholic church in the place, the Romish faith 
being professed by the royal family, while almost all their 
subjects are Lutherans. Just in front of this church is 
a fine bridge over the Elbe, and as a considerable part 
of the town lies on the other side, and this is the only 
communication, a regulation is in force obliging all pas¬ 
sengers going one way to keep to the right side of the 
bridge, and all passing the other to the left—a regula¬ 
tion of which you are not likely to remain long in igno¬ 
rance, as everybody feels himself at liberty to jostle you into 
the road if you transgress it. There is, by-the-bye, one 
other bridge—the Marien Briicke, built at a cost of £150,000 
—which serves both for the rail and foot-passengers, but it 
is quite at one extremity of the town, and therefore not so 
much used as the other. 



DRESDEN. 


30j 


The churches of Dresden are quite insignificant; the only 
respectable one in point of architecture is the Frauenkirche 
in the new market. This is really a curiosity; it is a hand¬ 
some octagonal structure of solid stone, against which the 
shells of Frederick the Great, during the Seven Years’ War, 
struck like so many india-rubber balls; but the singular 
part of it is the interior, which has been fitted up like 
a theatre, with pit and boxes ; the high altar is raised 
several feet from the basement, so as to serve for a stage or 
orchestra when occasion requires—concerts, and I believe 
even dramatic representations of a serious nature, are given 
there from time to time for charitable purposes. My ciceroness 
assured me it was capable of holding 6,000 people, but this 
was doubtless a figure of speech. 

While on the subject of churches, I may as well say a 
word or two on German churchyards. There are few more 
pleasing characteristics of this pious, affectionate people, than 
the attention and care they lavish upon their “ God’s acres,” 
or “ Peace courts ” as they call them. Wherever you find 
them—in the middle of the city, or on the outskirts—they 
are always well protected by a strong wall, and you feel the 
moment you enter that the world of strife is left behind, and 
you are standing within the precincts of consecrated ground 
—whether by the hand of man you have no need to inquire. 
The tranquillity and repose of all around you—those simple 
marble slabs, inscribed by the tender pen of some loving 
friend or relative, and surmounted by the symbol of eternity 
or a new life, the circular snake and the clasped hands—the 
love displayed more or less upon every grave by the careful 
arrangement of weeping shrubs and budding flowers—all 
speak of a resurrection, and tell you that God’s peace is there. 
A very favourable specimen of these well-ordered burial 
grounds was a little one I visited near the outskirts of the 
town. The paths were most scrupulously swept; and 
although some few of the graves presented a rather untidy 
appearance, owing to the lateness of the season and the fall¬ 
ing leaves, the greater number, being covered only with 
evergreens, were so clean and orderly, the shrubs so care¬ 
fully trimmed, and the grass so green and flourishing, that 

x 


306 


CONTINENTAL "WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


I was at once impressed with, the conviction that other hands 
than those of the sexton were from time to time engaged 
upon them. I lingered here an hour one sultry afternoon, 
wandering from stone to stone, and deciphering the epitaphs, 
most of them very simple. 

Here are a few I selected at random :— 

„ (Sinft fefjen frit ung meter." 

„ 9tut;e fcutft, bu Secure." 

, ©anft rnlje bcine Stfctje." 

„ tie $tiebeng:palntcn todj’n, 

SBerben it>ir mtg meberfefy’n." 

„ (So rufjet nun in ftiften ftrieben 
£>ie unfer £er$ int Sob nod) liebt, 

S)enn ad)! ju frill) oon uttg gcfdneben, 

£at tief bie Stennung nttg betriebt; 

2>od) tag eg in beg ^»bd)ften $tan: 

SBag @ott tfyut, bag iff loofytgettjan!" 

Literally translated:— 

“ In the future see we one another again.” 

u Peacefully rest thine ashes.” 

“ Rest in peace, thou dear one.” 

“ Where the peace-palm blooms, 

There shall we meet again.” 

“ So rest now in calm tranquillity, 

Thou whom our heart in death still loves; 

For ah ! too soon from us withdrawn, 

Deep has the separation saddened us; 

Yet thus it lay in the Highest’s plan : 

What God does, that is well done.” 

The Daily Advertiser (. Der Dresdene Anzeiger) is full of 
such announcements as the following :— 


DRESDEN. 307 

“This afternoon, after long suffering, our beloved daughter Julia Anna 
fell asleep, calm and resigned, in God. 

“ Trieste, 2nd Oct., 1857. 

“ William Denton Thode and Wife.” 

“ This morning the Almighty took again unto himself our little Alfred, 
at the tender age of twelve weeks. This for the information of all dear 
relatives and friends. 

“ Dresden, on the 6th Oct. 1857. 

“ Hugo Francke and Wife.” 

But mingled with the above advertisements, and usually 
without the slightest regard to order or classification, are 
such as these :— 


“ Bitte Dank , Wunsch! (Untranslatable expressions indicative of 
thanks, and good wishes.) “ My heartiest thanks to all my friends and 
relations for their overwhelming surprises, by congratulations and pre¬ 
sents on my fiftieth birth-day. 

“ JOHANNE CHRISTIANE OERTEL. JULIUS OERTEL.” 


“ Early this morning, in the eighth hour, my dear wife Hermine, nee 
Sell, was of a lively ( muntern ) little daughter happily delivered. This 
for the information of dear relatives and friends now in the neighbour¬ 
hood. 

“ August Leuck, Horticulturist. 

“ Wachwitz, the 7th October, 1857.” 


“ To-day, Wednesday, evening entertainment, where carp with Polish 
sauce is to be had. 


“ Friedrich Lohse. 


“ Gt. Meissner St., No. 14.” 


“ To day, forenoon, pig’s-meat, fresh liver—blood—and Charlotte- 
sausages, are to be had at Popner’s. 

“ Weber Street, No. 32.” 


The foregoing are fair samples of a few of tbe announce¬ 
ments to be seen daily in the Anzeiger. We had the 
paper brought to us regularly every morning to laugh over 
during breakfast. Sometimes, however, it is found very use¬ 
ful, as the following anecdote will show:—A gentleman 
keeping a boarding-house for young Englishmen in a re- 


308 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


spectable quarter of the town was excessively annoyed by 
the daily exhibition of dirty blankets, sheets, and pillow-' 
cases from the upper windows of a house o})posite. Some of 
the pupils, wishing to rid their tutor of such a disagreeable 
display, and never unwilling to embrace an opportunity for 
playing a practical joke on a Deutscher, sent an advertisement 
to the Anzqiger, which may have run somewhat thus :—“ To 
day forenoon, at 11 o’clock, may be viewed, on sale, from 
the upper windows of No. 549, Marienstrasse, a magnificent 
assortment of blankets, sheets, counterpanes, and other bed- 
furniture. This to lovers of art, and all others whom it may 
concern.” How many “ lovers of art ” assembled to witness 
this extraordinary exhibition, I never heard. I was only 
told that the annoyance was speedily removed. 

The Dresdeners, as I intimated at the commencement, are 
emphatically a pleasure-seeking people, and in no way can 
you get a better notion of how they set about it than by 
taking a stroll on a summer afternoon or evening to one of 
the three following places of resort—the Grosser Garten , the 
Linkesches Bad, or the Briililsche Terrasse. These are the 
chief places frequented by the better classes. They all have 
the same features, a promenade and a cafe, supplied with 
refreshments, and a band, and yet each has its distinguishing 
point of excellence. The Grosser Garten, “Great Garden,” 
has certainly the advantage of beautiful and extensive 
promenades, but then it is a long walk to reach it, and you 
have to pass through a not very aristocratic part of the 
town; whereas the cafe of the Briililsche Terrasse is not five 
minutes’walk from the principal hotels, and stands on a hand¬ 
some terrace looking down upon the Elbe. The Linkesches Bad, 
comprising a cafe, a theatre, shady gardens, and baths, is 
delightfully situated on the opposite bank of the river, half 
an hour distant by way of the bridge, little more than a 
quarter if you take the ferry; but then the scenery on the 
banks of the Elbe is so lovely, and the music provided 
for entertainment, under the direction of the unrivalled 
Hunerfiirst, so very superior, that this is perhaps the most 
attractive of the three during the summer months. On my 
visit to Dresden it was getting a little too cold for the two 


DRESDEN. 


309 


distant ones, although. I went to each of them once; the 
large concert-room, therefore, on the Brilhlsche Terrasse, is 
at this season of the year filled to overflowing. You pass 
through the iron railing, the boundary between the cafe and 
the terrace-walk, and to a man sitting at a table on the right 
you lay down your 2f gros. — 3d .—the prix d'entree —turning 
to the left, another man puts into your hand a programme of 
the music, and you walk on to find a place in the hall; or, 
if the weather admit of it, you may take a seat in the open 
air at one of the numerous little tables ranged under the 
trees, where the music is heard even to greater advantage, 
and the atmosphere, except to smokers, is sweeter and 
fresher. At the end of the large hall itself is a raised plat¬ 
form for the orchestra; the performance is always an ex¬ 
cellent selection of music from the best German and Italian 
composers. Four pieces are played within each hour, from 
4 or 5 o’clock in the afternoon till 10. The body of the hall 
is filled with little tables and chairs, the latter occupied by 
about an equal proportion of both sexes, all taking refresh¬ 
ments, of which beer, raspberry-vinegar, or something very 
like it, coffee, tea, eau sucre, ices, sandwiches, sausages, and 
various confectioneries, form the staple commodities. All 
the gentlemen are smoking cigars (pipes would not be 
tolerated), rendering the atmosphere, as the evening ad¬ 
vances, somewhat cloudy, to which the ladies seem not to 
object. They have most of them work in their hands, and 
all are as busy as they can be with their tongues until the 
music strikes up ; and even then it is astonishing how every 
one is competent to distinguish between good and indifferent. 
If it be only a waltz, a polka, or a “pot pourrif the 
chattering still goes on in a suppressed tone; but the moment 
the band breaks out with one of Mozart’s or Mendelssohn’s 
symphonies, all is immediately hushed, and every eye 
directed towards the orchestra. In these assemblies, the 
number of officers in uniform (on the Continent they are 
always obliged to appear thus), and the gay toilettes of the 
ladies, added to the universal clatter, vivacity, and gesticula¬ 
tion that characterise all foreigners, make a scene not easy 
to be imagined by any one who knows nothing of German 


310 CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 

life. And notwithstanding the low price of admission, these 
places are patronised by the highest ranks of society. No 
one seems to think it derogatory to his dignity to be seen 
there. General Ostensacken, the late Governor of Odessa, 
xsed to appear at one or other of them every evening, 
generally taking up a very conspicuous position, frequently 
planting himself immediately beneath the orchestra, and 
looking round gloomily upon the audience, I shall not soon 
forget the grim old warrior, with his broad flat face, black 
moustache, shabby overcoat, and ponderous walking-stick, 
with a black horn handle that turned both ways. I have no 
doubt the old soldier thought even Dresden life, with its 
picture galleries and threepenny concerts, a shade or two 
more agreeable than a life in the cold deserts of Siberia, 
which I believe he once very narrowly escaped. 

And talking of soldiers, I should not forget to mention 
that one day we went to see a grand review of as many of 
the available troops of the kingdom of Saxony as could be 
got together. And if you should ever have the misfortune 
to find yourself in Dresden on one of these “grand ” occasions, 
when all the people are going mad with delight at the 
prospect of the treat in store for them, until you begin to 
fancy there really must be something worth seeing— 
something that will justify you in running away for an hour 
or so from the picture gallery, or the Oriine Gewolbe — 
and yet you cannot quite make up your mind whether to go 
or not, especially as your time is short—allow me, in all 
sincerity, to decide for you at once with a positive “No!” 
or I am sure you will confess it to be one of the greatest 
delusions you have ever been made the victim of. 

For the Dresdeners, it is a grand treat, and all the more 
that it only comes once in three years, I believe. This year, 
the Court of Saxony being unusually gay, in consequence 
of the visits from their august Majesties the emperors of 
Austria and of Russia, it was determined to have a magnifi¬ 
cent display; and to that end troops were called in to the 
capital from the utmost limits of the kingdom, until finally 
they got together 16,000 men, about two-thirds of the whole 
army. And I would just remark by the way, that one-half 


DRESDEN. 


311 


of these looked as though the coats they had on had never 
been changed since they entered the service. I never saw 
such a dingy body of soldiers in my life. 

As this was an extraordinary occasion, there were to be 
three days of military display instead of one; the first, a 
review in presence of royalty; the other two, grand field 
days, in which the army, divided into two, was to engage 
itself with a series of amicable skirmishes—attacking, re 
treating, and blackening one another’s faces with powder. 
People talked so much about it that we really fancied it 
must be something worth going to see, and accordingly on 
the first day I, with two companions, set out from the hotel 
for the scene of action. This was a large plain just outside 
the town, large enough, in fact, for the manoeuvres of an 
army ten times the size. It was a scorching hot day, and 
for two whole hours did we ardently look for the arrival of 
the king. The space allotted to the troops was too large in 
proportion to their numbers, and they were drawn up too 
far from the boundary marked out for the spectators to make 
them objects of the least interest or amusement, so that, had 
it not been for one curious little incident, I know not how 
the torture of that broiling sun could have been endured. 

It happened that adjoining the plain were some large pre¬ 
serves abounding with hares, some half dozen of which, con¬ 
trary to the ordinary tactics of that sagacious animal, had 
slipped in through the populace to see the fun. Poor things! 
it was to be no fun for them ; for no sooner were they caught 
sight of than, one by one, they were chased by all the dis¬ 
posable canine force on the spot. Once within the lists, there 
was no chance for them, dogs and people were both against 
them; and so, poor creatures, one after another, they suc¬ 
cumbed to an ignominious death. The increasing excite¬ 
ment of the mob, as one little unfortunate after the other 
was seen to struggle in the death-gripe, was soon likely to 
make them forget the object with which they had assembled, 
when suddenly a flourish of trumpets announced that royalty 
was about to make its appearance; and, in effect, on running 
to the spot from whence the announcement came, I was just 
in time to see the infirm old king and his insignificant cortege 


312 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


pass on to the field. Several carriages followed, containing 
the queen, the princesses, and the ladies of the Court. When 
the last of these had passed, I was only too glad to make my 
escape, and spend the remainder of the afternoon in the old 
gallery, leaving my two friends to enjoy the review. When 
I met them again at the table d'hote (one of them was the 
old East Indian) they declared it was the most sorry affair of 
the kind they ever witnessed: the soldiers crawled along, 
like so many regiments of “awkward squads,” the manoeu¬ 
vres were—none at all. The scorching sun had deprived my 
friends of their appetites ; in fact, they set down the whole 
day’s proceedings as a miserable delusion and a snare, and I 
heartily congratulated myself on restraining my curiosity in 
favour of some of my old favourites in the picture gallery. 
The “battles” (as the people, in their military pride, styled 
them) of the two following days were carried on at a distance 
from the town, and I therefore saw nothing of them beyond 
an occasional cloud of smoke, preceded by a flash of fire 
from the guns, and the glittering of bayonets in the sun’s 
rays, as they appeared at intervals on the slight elevations 
some five or six miles distant. 

On the evening of the second day I made an attempt to 
see the bivouac of the cavalry, and after walking for nearly 
two hours in one direction discovered I had come altogether 
the wrong way. Determined not to miss such a novelty, I 
returned to the hotel, and a little before midnight started 
again with one of the waiters as guide. The stupid fellow 
lost himself before we were fairly outside the town, which 
was rather straggling in the direction we had to take, and 
miserably lighted. I suggested a cab, but was informed 
that no vehicles of any kind, with the exception of a sedan- 
chair, were allowed in the streets after 10 o’clock. I was 
about to express myself rather strongly upon the stupidity 
of such a regulation, when I reflected that possibly society 
in certain parts of England might be none the worse for a 
similar one. I had no thoughts yet, however, of giving up 
the adventure; and being at length put on the right road by 
a solitary sentinel we had the good luck to fall in with, we 
walked on briskly and hopefully. But the blighter of our 


DRESDEN. 


313 


hopes already lay in wait for us, only a few paces further on, 
in the shape of a second sentinel, who told us positively that 
long before we could reach the encampment the watch-fires 
would all be put out, and there would be nothing to see. 
And so, at 1 o’clock in the early morning, ended my expe¬ 
riences of this grand Saxon military fete. 

No stranger will quit Dresden without paying a visit to 
the monument of the ill-fated and misguided Moreau. He 
was struck down by a cannon-ball, by the side of the Em¬ 
peror Alexander, during the siege of Dresden by the allied 
forces, 27th August, 1813. Mistaking, probably, his hatred 
and jealousy of Napoleon for zeal in the cause of his 
country, he persuaded himself that, by placing his giant 
energies at the disposal of the allies, so as to crush Napo¬ 
leon’s ambitious endeavours to make himself master of all 
Europe, he was consulting the welfare of France; but he 
seemed to forget that he was not only fighting against Napo¬ 
leon, but against thousands of his own countrymen, and 
therefore they never forgave him. Had he lived, he might 
still have regained a place in their affections, but here his 
brilliant career was suddenly brought to a close. A glass 
globe on a pedestal, in the garden of a suburban villa, indi¬ 
cates the spot whence the shot which terminated his life was 
fired. Napoleon had the distance measured, and it was 
found to be 2,000 yards. The monument consists of a large 
square block of granite, surmounted by a helmet. 

On the opposite side of the river, at an equal distance 
from the town, is a churchyard, containing the celebrated 
representation, in relief, of the “Dance of Death” ( Toden - 
tanz). The vicinity of Dresden is rich in the villas and resi¬ 
dences of great men—among others, those of Schiller and 
of Weber—but I had not time to see any of them. 

To do justice to all worthy to be seen in the capital of 
Saxony would require at least a month or six weeks. The 
library, the numerous museums, galleries of art, private 
collections, &c., I have not mentioned, because I only saw 
one or two of them. The cabinet of 300,000 engravings, by 
the way, beneath the picture gallery, should on no account 
be left unvisited. The most prominent feature in this col- 


314 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


lection are the fifty portfolios containing copper-plates of 
the works of the most celebrated artists of all countries. 
There are, moreover, portraits of the most distinguished 
characters of Europe in the nineteenth century, to the num¬ 
ber of 450, all taken from life, chiefly by Professor Yogel. 

And now to complete my account of the kingdom of 
Saxony, as far as my acquaintance with it extended, I have 
only to give a brief narrative of a little tour of three days 
in Saxon Switzerland. My remembrance of it is rather that 
of a dream than a reality, inasmuch it was only the day 
before I set out that I received the unexpected intelligence 
of my dear mother’s death. What I have to say, therefore, 
of this little gem of North German scenery will necessarily 
be short and imperfect. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

SAXON SWITZERLAND. 

I remember leaving Dresden one morning (2nd Oct.) by an 
early train with only my little knapsack and plaid. I had 
hoped that, the season being late, I might be left to my own 
musings and devices, and allowed to ramble where I would 
unaccompanied. It was otherwise decreed, however. On 
leaving the railway, at the little station of Potscha, and 
getting into the ferry-boat to cross over to the village of 
Wehlen, whom should I find sitting next to me but one of my 
unmistakable countrymen and his lady, encumbered with 
two huge carpet-bags and a brace of parapluies ? Now, I 
should have passed on without discovering my nationality, 
but for one little circumstance. They got out of the boat 
just before me, and I saw that the ferryman, in giving the 
Englishman change for a thaler , deducted twice the amount 
of his fare—a piece of impertinence I could not let pass 
unnoticed. I at once told my countryman he had been 
cheated, and compelled the reluctant boatman to refund 
what he thought so cleverly to have pocketed. 



SAXON SWITZERLAND. 


315 


This of course led to an exchange of civilities, and an offer 
on my part—I could not escape it—of further assistance; for 
by this time I had discovered that neither of them knew a 
word of German. They had come out from Dresden for a 
two days’ excursion; and, with a slight knowledge of French, 
and the probability of finding a guide who also understood 
that language, they thought they would do very well. 

As it happened, not one of the guides who frequent the 
landing-place at Wehlen had even the smallest smattering 
of French; so that, what with their bags and their um¬ 
brellas, and the bewildering jargon of the natives tendering 
their various services, I saw they were in a perfect dilemma. 
But they looked such a simple, honest, amiable couple, and 
so willing to agree to all that was proposed to them, if they 
could but understand it, that I relinquished at once my 
solitary notions, and established myself their interpreter. 

The preliminary arrangements of securing a horse for the 
lady, and a man to carry the bags and act as guide, were 
soon over, and in a few minutes more we had left the river¬ 
side in company, and had plunged into the midst of those 
fantastic rocks with which the tourist’s acquaintance with 
Saxon Switzerland usually commences. And, indeed, an 
interpreter was well necessary. My little pocket dictionary, 
too, was in constant requisition, for the guides here are a 
talkative race; and not a projecting rock, or cliff, or cavern, 
or crumbling ruin, but has some quaint name or wild story 
attached to it. Here, on a small scale, was almost all the 
varied scenery of Switzerland or the Tyrol—deep, woody 
dells, where ferns and other species of dank vegetation grow 
in wild and luxurious profusion, savage glens, and narrow 
passes, breaking out now and then into broad valleys and 
green pastures; and yet the absence of one of the main fea¬ 
tures of Alpine scenery was painfully felt: snow and ice 
were not to be looked for on heights nowhere 2,000 feet 
above the level of the sea, but it was not so easy to recon¬ 
cile ourselves to the almost total absence of water. The beds 
of tiny rivulets that we crossed occasionally looked as though 
they had been dry for many a year; and broader ones that, 
some months earlier, may have danced joyfully along be- 


316 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


neath the grey cliffs, now told a mournful tale of the parch¬ 
ing heat of the past summer. And so severely does this 
want appear to be felt by those of the natives whose means 
of subsistence lie in the purses of strangers, that happy is 
the man who has secured for himself, and his posterity after 
him, the sole management of one of the very few little 
waterfalls which do actually exist. It is his only property, 
and he husbands up the little stock of water that feeds it 
as though his whole existence depended upon its duration. 
When the path runs by one of these—and the guide takes 
good care that you do not miss any of them—you are gravely 
informed that you have arrived at the waterfall, and requested 
respectfully, but firmly, to sit down for a moment on a rude 
bench, while the proprietor sets the machinery in motion. 
And then you see the happy fellow nimbly mount the rugged 
rock in front of you, and disappear. In another moment a 
muddy stream of water is seen first to trickle, and then to 
roll languidly down the face of the cliff from an elevation of 
about fifty feet. This is the waterfall of Saxon Switzerland 
—the humblest cascade of the Tyrol would blush to be com¬ 
pared to it. The next we came to, I offered the man a few 
groschen not to draw the sluice till our backs were turned. 

After all this dearth of water, it is cheering to find our¬ 
selves once more looking down upon the Elbe. We halt for 
dinner at the Bastei: this is the name given to a precipice 
rising 600 feet above the river, and almost hanging over it; 
and here the scenery becomes truly magnificent. You give 
a fearful glance downwards upon the rapid stream, winding 
its way along through stubborn masses of rock, and walled 
in a little higher up by cliffs of red sandstone; and then, 
withdrawing your eye from the river, and looking beyond it, 
right and left, you take in, in one panoramic sweep, all the 
striking features of this romantic district—solitary masses of 
rock starting up like so many grim sentinels upon the plain. 
Konigstein, Lilienstein, Gorischstein, Pfaffenstein, Pabststein, 
Zirkelstein , Bosenberg, Schneeberg, Schlossberg, Kaiserkrone , 
and a host of minor ones besides. The softer earth and stone 
that surrounded them have been washed away; but there 
they still stand, proud monuments of their own strength. A 


SAXON SWITZERLAND. 


317 


little nearer, and to the left, is an amphitheatre of majestic 
grey cliff's, of strange basaltic form; and close to where you 
are standing the rocks lie jumbled together in such inde¬ 
scribable confusion, that you would suppose the place had 
barely recovered from the shock of an earthquake; while, 
in the distance, the loftier ranges of the Bohemian hills are 
just visible. 

An hour with a good telescope we found by no means too 
much for the enjoyment of this glorious panorama. Then 
descending into the valley, we dismissed our horse and guide 
at a little village in the Amsel Grund, and took a carriage on 
to Schandau , putting up for the night at the comfortable 
Dampfschiff Hotel, with its pretty little garden running 
down to the river. I have also pleasing recollections of a 
solitary moonlight ramble over the hills at the back of the 
village ; and well do I remember the singular effect, in that 
uncertain light, produced by the dark outline of those 
gigantic columns of rock dimly protruding themselves above 
the horizon. 

The next morning I started early, leaving my two friends 
to follow in a carriage, with the understanding that I should 
wait for them on the Great Winterberg, a hill about twelve 
miles distant. 

The routes in this part are so thoroughly hackneyed, and 
everything so clearly chalked out, that they do not allow you 
even the pleasure of losing yourself. I was obliged, there¬ 
fore, contrary to my usual practice, always to follow the 
path that others took. 

The “ Lichtenhainer Wasserfal/ ” is the first halt, six miles 
from Schandau . When the celebrated trick of the waterfall 
is over, a little boy fishes up from a well at the foot of it a 
netful of mountain trout, covered with bright vermilion 
spots, and from a quarter to one pound and a half in weight. 
These you are to suppose have just descended with the 
stream; and at this propitious moment the landlord of the 
restauration steps up to you, cap in hand, a bland smile on 
his face, and hints at the gridiron, the fishpot, the horn- of the 
day. “Distressed to be obliged to refuse, but have just 
made hearty breakfast.” Do you suppose he with the bland 


318 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


smile will instantly depart, and the disappointment exhibit 
itself in the altered physiognomy ? Assuredly not, for the 
Saxon Wirth (host) is the politest of his race; and as though 
the refusal had been precisely what he wished and expected, 
with the same radiant face he wishes you the never-failing 
“ Gluckliche Reise /” 

I did not omit, of course, to see the Kuhstall, which I 
reached on foot instead of on a donkey, the mode of travelling 
usually adopted. The spot that bears this name is remark¬ 
able for a natural arch in the rock, 800 feet above the sea, 
in front of which is a rude terrace commanding a fine pros¬ 
pect over the valley below. During the Thirty Years’ War, 
it served as a refuge for the peasants and their cattle ; hence 
the appellation of “ cow-stall.” I fell in here with a party 
of Russians, and walked on in their company, first up the 
lesser, and then the greater Winterberg, the two highest 
mountains in Saxony, but both less than 2,000 feet above 
the sea level. 

And here my two acquaintances of yesterday rejoined me. 
An hour to the view, and a snatch of bread and cheese, and 
on we go again, the carriage they had hired in the morning 
was exchanged in favour of a horse for the lady. The Prebisch - 
Thor is our next halt. This is another natural arch, hol¬ 
lowed out of the rock, but more remarkable, and of much 
more colossal dimensions, than the Kuhstall. It is 66 feet 
high, 98 broad, and 1,402 feet above the sea. The Thor 
itself is very grand, but the view from the platform on the 
top is magnificent, finer even than that from the Bastei. 
The scenery near at hand is exceedingly wild, and the dis¬ 
tant outline of the Erzgebirge borders the horizon. Now we 
drop down once more into the valley, make our way to the 
river, and get into the Dresden steamer. I do not, however, 
go on to that city, but take leave of my fellow-travellers at 
Bchandau, where I sleep a second time. 

The next morning, there being only a short day’s work 
remaining for me, I do not set out till 9 o’clock, and then 
in the company of a young Dane, whose pure German accent 
rather surprises me, until I discover he is a patriot from the 
province of Holstein , burning for the liberation of his country 


SAXON SWITZERLAND. 


319 


from the Danish yoke, and its annexation to Prussia, or ad¬ 
mittance into the German league—I don’t exactly remember 
which—at all events, some move that was to be the thin 
end of the wedge for working the regeneration of Europe. 
He had been wandering about for a couple of days with a 
sleepy guide, and, fir ding him but indifferent company, 
seemed not sorry to meet with some one to whom he could 
talk patriotism and sing patriotic songs. I' could barely 
return one for six of his—the stock seemed inexhaustible 
—but I could join con amove in the choruses; and when it 
came to “ God save the Queen,” which is also the Prussian 
national anthem, I could shout with a good will equal 
to his own. I warrant the hills had not echoed so for 
many a day; and what a glorious day it was ! All nature 
was in a joyous mood : the sun held undisputed possession 
of the sky, and the larger and smaller birds had all come 
together for a grand breaking-up party preparatory to the 
Michaelmas vacation. Many a happy ramble of a month 
or so ago did it recall to me; and it is a day, moreover, 
entitled to a “ cushioned seat” in the memory, from the fact 
that, with the exception of a peep at the Harz, and a visit 
to the Drachenfels, it was the last I spent in anything like 
mountain sceneiy. What a multitude of luxuriant, deep 
ravines, and to what a Brobdignagian growth do the Filix 
Mas, the Bracken, and the lady fern there attain! What 
a delicious freshness, too, about the valleys, as I have since 
beheld them in the early summer, while the brooks are still 
full of water, and the trout may be seen basking on the sur¬ 
face in the still pools, or lying in the cool shade beneath the 
bridges, or under the grey roof of an overhanging boulder 
rock! How picturesque, moreover, is the costume of the 
peasant girls !—a scarlet flannel petticoat, blue apron, black 
Swiss bodice, and scarlet handkerchief crossed over the head 
and tied beneath the chin, the feet and ankles usually bare. 
And as to the children, I cannot call to mind any district 
where they are more beautiful. With their long, flowing, 
auburn locks and blue eyes, many of them looked like the 
little cherubs of Eaphael or of Fra Angelico. We lunched 
on the Pabststein, walked beneath the cliffs of the Lilienstein, 


320 


CONTINENTAL "STAY-SIDE NOTES. 


and ascended to inspect the virgin fortress of Konigstein. In 
“ Murray” there is an account of an unsuccessful endeavour 
by Napoleon to take this fortress, by battering it, from Lilitn- 
stein , but the officer who went round with us assured me this 
was incorrect; that it was once or twice attempted, but 
by Napoleon never. The Saxons are fond of boasting its 
virginity; but the fact is, of so little utility in itself is 
the fortress, as not to make it worth any one’s while to be at 
much pains or expense to capture it. Its only merits appear 
to be, personal security, and the guardianship of the little 
town, of the same name, at its base, and the few acres of 
open land that surround it. To the Saxon monarchs, how¬ 
ever, it has several times proved a valuable acquisition, serv¬ 
ing as a depository for the priceless treasures of the capita] 
when any danger threatens it. The walls, ramparts, and 
portals are works of a most stupendous kind; and there is a 
well cut in the solid rock to the depth of 660 feet, with a 
diameter of about 12 feet. Water dropped from a bucket is 
seventeen seconds before it reaches the bottom. Having con¬ 
scientiously examined and expressed our opinions upon all 
strangers are permitted to see, we went down by the same way 
we came, and reached the rail in time to catch the 4 o’clock 
train to Dresden , where we arrived about an hour later. 

I had hoped to see something more of my new acquaint¬ 
ance, but he disappointed me by saying he was obliged to 
return at once to an agricultural college in the country, 
where he was studying; and so we were not likely to meet 
again. 

I took up my quarters once more at the British Hotel, 
where I had left my baggage; and after lingering for three 
more days about the old favourite spots, took rail to Berlin — 
an uninteresting ride of 117 miles over a very flat country. 



BERLIN. 


321 


CHAPTER XXY. 

BERLIN. 

October 9 th. — Berlin is the great city of North—as Vienna 
is of South—Germany; but as its grandeur consists prin¬ 
cipally of externals, in twelve days I had made myself suffi¬ 
ciently well acquainted with those sights that had most 
interest for me. Before entering upon a superficial account 
of these, I should like to attempt a slight sketch'of the 
general aspect of the city. 

Berlin , like Munich and St. Petersburg , is an example of 
what the iron will of one great man can accomplish, even in 
the face of seeming impossibilities. Who that saw Berlin a 
century and a half ago, a comparatively unimportant city of 
about 40,000 inhabitants, confined to one bank of the little 
river Spree , in fhe midst of a dreary plain of sand, with few 
signs anywhere of fertility or cultivation, would have dared 
to prophesy that, in the middle of the nineteenth century, it 
would have grown to be one of the finest cities in Europe, 
with a population of nearly half a million P And yet the 
Great Frederick, like Peter of Russia, and Louis of Bavaria, 
had but to will—to conceive a bold idea, and command its 
execution—and forthwith it became a growing reality be¬ 
neath his eyes. Desirous of possessing, during his lifetime, 
a capital worthy of his vast dominions, he fixed on this spot, 
and ordered a large space to be enclosed, and filled with 
houses. But, as the population was scanty, the only mode 
of meeting the wishes of the sovereign was by extending 
the buildings over as wide a space as possible; and, there¬ 
fore, many of the hotels and mansions of the nobility are 
very wide, and not more than two stories high. The streets 
are all on one level, and intersect one another at right 
angles, so that it is extremely easy to find your way about 
when you know a few of them. Some are of an immense 
length, running the entire length of the city. Of these, 
Friederichstrasse and Wilhelmstrasse are the handsomest, the 
former being three miles long. 


322 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


It is said that, in summer, the quantity of dust and 
sand flying about is almost insufferable, lying several inches 
deep in places. By the time I got there it had all dis¬ 
appeared, for there had been no rain to turn it into mud, and 
the roads and pavements were clean and dry, and as free 
from dust as Fleet Street or the Strand. 

The finest edifices are congregated in and about a broad 
street, with an avenue of Linden trees running down the 
centre, and called from them Unter den Linden. At one end 
is that magnificent structure known as the Brandenburger 
Thor (Brandenburg Gate), said to be an imitation, but on a 
larger scale, of the Propyleum at Athens. The boundary at 
the other extremity is, first, a handsome bridge over the 
canal, adorned with eight allegorical groups in white marble, 
representing the career of a young warrior, all by different 
artists; then, beyond the bridge, a large gravel square planted 
with small trees, where are the Cathedral, an ugly building 
with a dome; the Boyal Palace; and the Museum, a noble 
edifice, with a colonnade along its front. Before it stands a 
gigantic basin of polished granite, twenty-two feet in dia¬ 
meter, and at the bottom of the long flight of stone steps 
leading up to the colonnade is placed, on one side, the 
famous bronze group of the Amazon and Tiger, by Kiss, 
while the opposite side was to be occupied by a group of 
a horseman contending with a lion, by Professor Bauch: 
that eminent sculptor has since died, and therefore the work 
may probably rest with one of his pupils. Becrossing the 
f ridge, and going back again towards the Brandenburg Gate, 
we have on the right, and in close proximity to each other, 
the Arsenal, a solid square building, considered by many 
the chief ornament of the capital, the pretty little guard¬ 
house, the University, and the Academy of Fine Arts. 
Facing these are the private residence of the late king, 
Frederick William III., now (1857) undergoing repair for 
the reception of the young prince and his English bride; 
the Opera House, one of the handsomest in Germany, both 
within and without; and the Palace of the Prince of Prussia. 
At a very short distance behind these three last are three 
other remarkable edifices occupying the centre of the Gens- 


BERLIN. 


323 


d’Armes Platz; viz. the New Playhouse, a very fanciful 
specimen of architecture, with a large quantity of glass in 
it, and justifying the exclamation of an American on first 
seeing it, “ What a huge hothouse the king has got! ” It is 
always in good company, however, for on each side is a 
splendid church in the Italian style, with a dome; both being 
exactly alike. Peturning again to the Unter den Linden , I 
should be very remiss did I omit mention of the superb 
equestrian statue of Frederick the Great. Until 1851, there 
existed no public monument to the greatest of all Prussian 
monarchs. In that year, however, the government rendered 
full justice to his memory by erecting a monument which, 
in design and execution, has not its equal, perhaps, in 
Europe. It is in bronze, modelled by Eauch. The pedestal, 
which is of granite, and twenty-five feet high, is flanked by 
groups of the king’s favourite generals, statesmen, and phi¬ 
losophers, to the number of thirty-one, all the size of life, 
and a few of them on horseback. The portraits are said to 
be excellent, and great attention has also been paid to the 
costumes. Those who do not appear among the groups have 
their names inscribed beneath, ninety-six in number; and 
on a tablet in front is this simple inscription :—“ To Fre¬ 
derick the Great, Frederick William III., 1850; completed 
by Frederick William IV., 1851.” Above the figures are 
female personifications of the four cardinal virtues—Pru¬ 
dence, Justice, Fortitude, and Temperance—one at each 
corner ; and between them is a series of bas-reliefs embody¬ 
ing the principal episodes—civil, military, and domestic—in 
the king’s life. The equestrian statue itself is seventeen feet 
three inches high, and, notwithstanding the stiffness of the 
costume of the period, and the slim, angular figure of the 
monarch, presents a very elegant tout ensemble. It stands 
in a conspicuous position at one end of the avenue of trees 
forming the chief public promenade. Numerous other monu¬ 
ments, all to great warriors, are scattered over the city. 
Those of Bliicher and Billow, the two Waterloo heroes, one 
facing the guard-house, the other by the side of it, most 
interested me; that of Bliicher is a remarkably spirited 
statue : both are by Eauch. 


324 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


No country in Europe boasts more, and makes a greater 
parade, of its military power than Prussia; and yet the 
Austrians have always appeared to me the better soldiers, the 
officers particularly, at least in appearance. Be that as 
it may, I was assured that in Berlin alone there are never 
fewer than 30,000 troops, which give it almost the appearance 
of one huge camp. Sentry-boxes, painted in black and 
white stripes, the Prussian colours, are posted all over the 
city; you see them at every corner, and in front of almost 
every other large house. I should have mentioned earlier, by- 
the-bye, that in most of the chief towns of Germany these 
sentry-boxes, with frequently a flag-staff beside them, are 
very striking features, being invariably painted in the colours 
of the country, in stripes or zigzags. In Bavaria they are blue 
and white, in Austria black and yellow. At Trieste, even, I 
remember my bag being tied round with black and yellow 
string, to show that it had passed through the Custom House. 
Military etiquette is observed here with great rigour; and it 
is amusing to watch the expression on the face of the sen¬ 
tinel in front of the guard-house, as he becomes aware of 
some officer looming in the distance, for his duty is to report 
his rank, that the appointed number of men may be brought 
out to salute him as he passes; and if, in his anxiety, he 
should mistake a colonel for a general, or vice versa , it is 
impossible to say what might be the consequences. 

Having thus glanced very cursorily at a few of the ex¬ 
ternal features of Berlin, let us now peep, with a little more 
curiosity, into some of its interior. And first the Museum, 
for there is the picture gallery; and that with me is always 
the primary attraction. Entering by the grand staircase, 
and passing through the Eotunda, on whose walls hang fine 
specimens of old tapestry, worked from Raphael's cartoons, 
you find yourself in the central one of those thirty-seven 
compartments which form the Prussian National Gallery. In 
point of fine pictures, the Berlin gallery is vastly inferior to 
that of either Dresden or Munich ; but to any one desirous of 
studying the early German and Italian schools, or, indeed, 
the progress of art generally, from the Byzantine period 
downwards, no other collection in Europe affords so good an 


BERLIN. 


325 


opportunity. The arrangement is most complete. Each 
country is confined to its own position in the gallery—each 
school has a certain number of cabinets allotted to it, and 
these again are subdivided into the various epochs; so that 
by its thoroughly practical nature the absence of good 
pictures is fully compensated for. At the same time it is 
not without many works of very considerable merit; but 
these, being mostly by artists of the fourteenth and fifteenth 
centuries, are interesting, rather than beautiful or agreeable, 
and require the amateur to lower the standard of excellence 
he has raised in Italy or in Dresden , and to set up in its place 
one of an altogether different type. Titians, Tintorettos, 
Veroneses, Correggios, Guidos, Guercinos, Carraccis, Dome- 
nichinos, Rubenses, Rembrandts, Vandycks, &c., are con¬ 
spicuous only by their absence; while the strength of the 
collection lies in the productions of such men as Lucas 
Cranach, Hubert and Jan Van Eyck, Albrecht Durer, Hol¬ 
bein, and a host of Italian masters of the fifteenth century. 
Raphael appears in considerable force, but they are chiefly 
his earlier works, while still under the influence of Perugino, 
and therefore not differing in any very great degree from 
those that surround him. Harsh angular outlines, false 
contrasts of colour, an undue attention to detail, and a 
general stiffness in the composition, are here the chief cha¬ 
racteristics, in opposition to the great perfection attained in 
all these points by the masters of the following age. There 
is that painful monotony of subject-matter, too—the concep¬ 
tions are nearly all from the same mould; the Virgin and 
Child, adored by saints of various epochs, is the almost uni¬ 
versal subject; for every one of another nature there are at 
least five or six of this. The following description of one 
by Paris Bordone, a Venetian artist, will serve as a speci¬ 
men of the generality of them:— 

In the centre, the Virgin seated high on a throne with the in¬ 
fant Christ standing, like a naked doll, in her right hand, and 
beckoning to a rosy apple which she holds at a tantalising 
distance in her left; on the right, St. Rocco, very pensive, 
leaning on a species of pitchfork; beneath him, St. Gregory, 
a truly noble figure, his left hand on his heart. Somebody 


326 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


lias clearly just disputed the veracity of some statement he 
has made ; while the worthy saint assures him, on his honour, 
that he has spoken the truth; but who or where the individual 
is who thus presumes to doubt his word, is left to conjecture. 
Opposite to St. Bocco is St. Catherine, in melancholy con¬ 
templation of the Virgin’s dingy crimson robe; and beneath 
her, St. Sebastian, lashed to a pillar, with an arrow in his side, 
and, to all appearances, perfectly at his ease. Two little angels 
are pommelling each other with a footstool on one of the throne 
steps, while four little cherubs peep through the clouds and 
enjoy the fun. A fiddling angel or two is all that is wanting to 
complete the picture; and then you have a very fair idea of 
the material part of the compositions of that period. But once 
overcome the repugnance occasioned by a constant repetition 
of the same subject, and close your eyes to a few of the 
grosser defects, and these old paintings really become very 
interesting studies. The depth of expression in the faces, 
and the detail thrown into the accessories, will generally 
bear the closest examination, and will often enable you to 
know something of the mind and character of the artist. 
Would it be possible, for instance, to look long at one of 
Fra Angelico’s matchless compositions without feeling that 
its author must have been a man of deep, fervent piety ? 
And when many of his works are seen, and the wonderful 
purity pervading all, in every part, is observed, would not 
one be inclined to say, even without knowing it for a fact, 
that painting and praying were with him simultaneous opera¬ 
tions, and that he never took his brush in his hands but on 
his knees P And who does not trace in the scrupulous atten¬ 
tion to detail, the delicacy of design, and the chaste grouping 
of the figures, the pure, well-regulated mind, and child-like 
simplicity of the monk? So that, in fact, you have the double 
pleasure of studying the picture as a work of art, and, through 
it, the artist himself. 

And yet, after all, advance what you will in its favour, this 
gallery will always be more fatiguing than those of Dresden , 
Munich , Bologna , or Florence; and one at least, I suppose, out 
of every ten visitors to Berlin does not go to it a second time. 
I met one family who had walked through it, among the rest 


BERLIN". 


327 


of the p-glit 3 to bo “ done” that day, but none of them could 
recall to mind a single picture ; some of the party did not 
even remember that they had been there at all, so little im¬ 
pression had it made on them. It is not my intention, 
however, to prove, by a description of the most noteworthy 
paintings, that I was not one of these transitory visitors, 
for I have a well-pencilled catalogue, and think, therefore, 
I shall best consult the patience of my friends by hasten¬ 
ing on to other sights. 

Beneath the picture gallery is a collection of sculpture, 
antiquities, &c., not very remarkable; but just at the back 
of the Museum, and connected with it by a covered bridge, 
is what is called Das Neue Museum —a solid oblong building, 
of no particular merit externally, but internally, when 
finished, it will be one of the most magnificent, as well as 
the most classic and complete, in the world. Here is some¬ 
thing to meet the taste of every one. For the lover of anti¬ 
quities are rooms filled with Egyptian, Assyrian, and Tuscan 
remains, and a few curious old German instruments of war; 
also a faithful reproduction of part of the famous Temple 
of Karnak, the walls covered with views, in fresco, from 
Egypt and Abyssinia. For the ethnologist and historian is 
a series of halls and cabinets teeming with curiosities of all 
kinds from all quarters of the globe, and which would require 
many weeks to examine properly. For the sculptor or the 
architect, long galleries and gorgeous saloons are devoted 
to casts modelled from the most celebrated productions of 
modern and ancient times ; and for the artist are Kaulbach’s 
magnificent frescoes, and a cabinet full of drawings and 
engravings—among them some wonderful little miniatures 
by Albert Diirer, specially noteworthy. 

In a museum like this, where so much space is assigned 
to objects of art, a mineralogical or natural history collec¬ 
tion would be out of the question; but for those who can 
find nothing in the foregoing list to interest them, there will 
assuredly be matter for admiration in the excellent and sys¬ 
tematic arrangement of everything, as well as in the taste and 
skill with which the architecture and mural decorations of 
the respective departments are made to harmonise with the 


328 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


objects tbey contain. It is not so large as onr British 
Museum; but for splendour and magnificence, I suppose no 
other in Europe, unless it be the Glyptothek at Munich, will 
bear comparison with it. 

From this let us pass to the old Schloss, a small portion of 
which is now being fitted up for the young royal couple until 
their own palace is ready. The endless series of stately 
chambers looks miserably bare and dingy by contrast with 
those we have just left; indeed, they now scarcely repay the 
fatigue of walking through them, inasmuch as their principal 
attractions—consisting of pictures, objects of art, various 
costumes, and, above all, the relics of Frederick the Great— 
have been removed to the New Museum. The Boyal Chapel 
—forming a part of the body of the building, and rising 
above it by a lofty dome, is the most gaudy Protestant place 
of worship I ever saw. No amount of silver and gold seems 
to have been spared in its decoration; and in costly marbles, 
considering its diminutive size, it would almost vie with the 
church of the Scalzi at Venice, or the chapel of the Medicis 
at Florence. Moreover, be it noted, you dare not enter with¬ 
out first encasing your feet in a pair of huge woollen slippers, 
which, indeed, on this highly-polished floor, seem to be as 
necessary and as unmanageable as stilts in crossing a bog. 
The Library, with its 500,000 volumes and 5,000 MSS., I did 
not see, because such objects are always a disappointment, I 
think, unless several hours can be devoted to them. 

The Arsenal ( Zeughaus ) is really worth visiting, however, 
if it be only to have an idea in how small a compass 50,000 
muskets, and an equal number of swords, may be packed; 
they are ranged along shelves on the first-floor of the build¬ 
ing : but besides these, and 1,000 stand of colours hung 
against the walls and pillars, there is little else to see. On 
the same floor are a few specimens of ancient armour and 
primitive fire-arms, and on the ground-floor a score or so of 
cannons. The artist’s studios are to me always places of 
attraction. I visited those of Cornelius and of Bauch, two 
of the most celebrated at Berlin; the former as an artist, the 
latter as a sculptor. In that of Cornelius I saw the cartoons 
for some of the frescoes which are to adorn the new Campo 


BERLIN. 


329 


Santo; but bis style is not so pleasing as Kaulbach’s, the 
designer of the large frescoes in the New Museum. The 
atelier of Rauch was more interesting, because from it have 
emanated many of Berlin’s finest monuments, of most of 
which casts are there to be seen grouped together. I had 
also the additional advantage of an introduction to one of 
the great man’s pupils, with whom I spent more than one 
instructive hour in the galleries of the New Museum. 

But the sight of sights to me was Borsig’s monster en¬ 
gine factory, the largest in the world; we have, I believe, 
none in England to compete with it in point of size and ca¬ 
pability—it is divided into three parts, each employing 2,000 
hands, and they turn out three engines every fortnight. I 
went over only one of the establishments, and, indeed, that 
was quite sufficient for a long morning’s work. You are 
first conducted through a large engine-room, where are 
about twenty locomotives in various stages of completion; 
some mere skeletons of iron, others with the interior of the 
huge boiler, and its fifty metal tubes, exposed to view; and 
others only awaiting the last coat of paint before they are 
sent forth upon a life of steam. Next comes the tender- 
room, similarly arranged, and of equal dimensions. Then 
a succession of long compartments, with one small sta¬ 
tionary engine at the end of each, setting in motion a per¬ 
fect labyrinth of machinery for making the various com- 
jionent parts of the locomotive. 

And now you find yourself suddenly in the midst of a 
scene and atmosphere of a very different character, calling 
to mind that glowing description, in Virgil, of the caves 
beneath the Liparos Isle— 

“ The Cyclops here their heavy hammers deal: 

Loud strokes, and hissing of tormented steel, 

Are heard around : the boiling waters roar; 

And smoky flames through fuming tunnels soar., 
****** * 

Seven orbs within a spacious round they close. 

One stirs the fire, and one the bellows blows. 

The hissing steel is in the smithy drown’d; 

The grot with beaten anvils groans around. 


330 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


By turns their arms advance in equal time ; 

By turns their hands descend, and hammers chime. 

They turn the glowing mass with crooked tongs: 

The fiery work proceeds, with rustic songs.” 

Here some five score sons of Vulcan are darting about with 
red-hot bars of iron, as though danger from contact were a 
thing not to be thought of. In the centre was an immense 
steam-hammer, playing with ponderous masses of iron as 
one would handle a lump of dough; and in another place 
was an instrument that chopped up pieces of wrought iron 
like so much touchwood. I wonder what old Virgil would 
have said, could he have seen all this ; he must have framed 
his description anew, at all events ; and even then I fancy 
he would have been puzzled to find language forcible enough 
to give the Lemnian god his due— i.e., to make the labours 
of him and his hardy workmen proportionately superior to 
the wonders mortals now perform. The average pay of the 
men at this establishment is from 5 to 6 thalers a week 
(15s. to 18s.); some, who work by the piece, earn even as 
much as 15 or 18 thalers. 

Another place I visited of a similar character, was the 
Konigliche Eisengiesserei (Royal Iron Foundry), renowned all 
over the world for the excellence of its castings. I went 
with a friend, in the evening, as it is usually then that the 
moulds made during the day are filled. The dingy group 
of buildings where all these beautiful little bronze and iron 
ornaments are made, lies just without one of the gates of 
the city, and as you enter immediately from the cool, clear 
air into one of the largest of them—a spacious, lofty, vault¬ 
like room, filled with an atmosphere so hot and murky, that 
the first effort to breathe almost suffocates—lit up only 
by the fitful glare from one large smelting furnace, to and 
from which fifty black-looking objects—you believe them to 
be human beings—are incessantly moving; the sensation 
at first experienced, at such a spectacle, and under such 
respiratory restraint, is more easily felt than described. By 
degrees, however, reconcilement to the situation grows upon 
you—you become imperceptibly, both bodily and mentally, 



BERLIN. 


331 


attempered to things around, and at length you venture to 
step forward, and gain some notion of what is going on. 
Innumerable moulds lie scattered about over the ground, 
most of them ready to receive the liquid metal, a few under¬ 
going the last touches from the hand of the moulder, and 
others being closed, preparatory to the pouring in of the 
iron. The room we were in was more especially devoted to 
castings of the larger sort, monumental slabs, wheels, joists, 
beams, and rafters for houses, &c. ; and therefore to make 
the two halves of the mould exactly fit, is a matter some¬ 
times of no little difficulty. Each mould, of course, has an 
upper and an under half, both of which are enclosed in 
strong wooden frames, with the inner surface exposed ; and 
these, when ready, have to be brought together so that their 
sides and angles exactly correspond. The upper half, if it 
be a large mould, is let carefully down upon the other, by a 
crane, and then the process of founding at once com¬ 
mences. Recourse must now be had to the smelting fur¬ 
nace. This is an immense funnel-shaped caldron, behind 
which a man is stationed, throwing in from time to time 
coal and iron promiscuously. The iron, being the heavier, 
sinks to the bottom, and soon becomes part of the liquid 
mass which already occupies the lower part of the caldron. 
Now you see four men approach, bearing on two long poles 
a small deep pan. This they hold beneath the mouth of the 
furnace ; the small iron door is opened, and out rushes the 
white-hot fluid, of the consistency of milk. The pan filled, 
the door is swiftly closed, and the men carry off their burden 
to the mould ready to receive it. To the larger ones, three 
or more pans are brought. It is allowed two or three mi¬ 
nutes to settle and clear, the dross rising to the surface, and 
then, the signal being given, all empty their pans slowly, 
by little holes, into the mould. One hole, on a lower level 
than the rest, is left, by which they may know, from the 
escape of the superfluous iron, when the mould is full. This 
cools during the night, and the hard, black result is taken 
out the next morning. The firmness of the Berlin castings 
is said to be attributable to a peculiar quality of iron and 
sand found only in this neighbourhood. 


332 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


These two sights, as they were the greatest novelty, were 
to me the most pleasant in Berlin; but I believe it is not 
always easy for a stranger to get access to them. I was 
fortunate enough to have an introduction to a gentleman 
who had worked for two years as a volunteer in the first, 
and knew one of the foremen in the last; and having him 
to go round with me, I saw much more than I should other¬ 
wise have done. 

Few towns in Europe are more numerously provided with 
evening places of amusement than Berlin. Of the theatres, 
the three principal are the Italian Opera House, the Schau- 
spielhaus , or New Play House, and the Konigstadter 
Theatre ; besides these are several less important ones called 
generally Liebhaber, or Amateur Theatres; then, as for 
salons de danse , concert-rooms, and supper-rooms, their 
number is legion. 

And here I might just note, en passant , the fashionable 
portioning out of the hours of the day; it is somewhat in 
this way:—a cup of coffee and a roll on rising; sight¬ 
seeing, &c., till the middle of the day; half an hour’s pause, 
and a cup of chocolate at a conditori ; sight-seeing again till 
3 or 4; a lengthened dinner of nearly two hours’ duration ; 
theatre, concert, or other entertainment from 6 till half¬ 
past 9; a light supper, and closed doors and empty streets 
by half-past 10 or 11, except at the dancing saloons, which 
are just then beginning to fill, and which, after midnight, 
present a spectacle that is hardly worth while for an Eng¬ 
lishman to attempt a description of. Private houses are 
obliged to have their doors locked by a certain hour, either 
10 or 11 o’clock; but a wdchter, or watchman, parades every 
street, and is supplied with a key, which opens every door, 
and he will let you in at any hour. 

The Opera House is one of the largest and most gor¬ 
geously decorated theatres in Germany, it is perhaps over¬ 
charged with ornament, but the performances are of the 
first-class. I saw there II Trovatore , Lucia di Lammermoor y 
and Der Freischutz. The scenic effects in the latter were 
equal to some of Charles Kean’s magnificent displays. At 
the Schauspielhaus I saw represented a favourite comedy 


BERLIN. 


333 


called Die Grille , but the acting was not of the best order, 
and the interval between the acts too long, especially as 
there is no orchestra. 

Of the lighter places of entertainment, Kroll’s establish¬ 
ment, outside the Brandenburger Thor , is the most notable. 
It is quite a palace in appearance, and comprises within its 
spacious dimensions several large and handsomely decorated 
dancing, concert, and refreshment-rooms, while the adjoin¬ 
ing grounds are prettily laid out in promenades, and shady 
summer retreats. The kind of entertainment here is much 
the same, only on a grander scale, as at those places I have 
more fully described in Dresden ; there is also a pretty little 
stage, where bouffes and comedies are creditably performed. 
One other kind of evening resort I ought to note, and for 
the reason that it is more characteristic perhaps of Berlin 
life than any other; I mean the Bierhaus and the Weinstube. 
The former are the most numerous; several are to be found 
in almost every street. They truly correspond in number 
to our public-houses, though not altogether in nature. 
Many of them, like the Court Brewery at Munich, are filled 
all day long; but the greater part are only in their glory 
between the hours of 7 and 10 in the evening, and then it 
is by the middle classes, the tradespeople and artists, they 
are chiefly frequented. They seem to occupy the position 
of the cafe-restaurants in Paris, of which there are not 
many here. These beer-houses, &c., are, in fact, the clubs of 
the people, and are patronised by their various frequenters 
according to the quality or speciality of the beer and wine 
provided. The same little clique of five or six may be 
met, at least five evenings out of the seven, assembled 
round the same table. The furniture seldom extends be¬ 
yond deal boards on trussels, and hard wooden chairs. 
Many respectable tradesmen often take their waves, for in 
most of them a better and a cheaper supper than can be 
provided at home is to be had, and therefore anything so 
wretchedly monotonous as a whole evening spent a la 
maison never enters anybody’s head. German ladies, 
moreover, are not generally averse to smoke, with which, 
after a time, the atmosphere of these places becomes more 


334 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


or less perceptibly burdened. Not a few, indeed, have a 
weakness for tobacco, especially in the form of cigarettes, 
but they seldom make a public exhibition of the practice. I 
knew one lady who carried it so far as to smoke two or three 
cigars daily. 

The first thing to be done on taking your seat in one of 
these “ public-houses ” is to give the order for supper. To 
this end, the kellner brings a bill of fare, about a yard long, 
covered with a most bewildering list of light and savoury 
dishes. In attempting to choose for yourself, you get into 
a state of inextricable confusion, you may search for half 
an hour in your dictionary, and yet not arrive at any clear 
result as to the nature of any one of the varied and multi¬ 
tudinous concoctions; therefore, if you are with German 
friends, by all means let them select for you. The business 
of eating brought to a close, the glass mugs of beer are re¬ 
filled, cigars produced, and politics and scandal pretty freely 
and noisily discussed till about half-past 9 or 10 o’clock, 
when the company rapidly thins, and by 11 there is seldom 
any one left. The quantity of beer ordinarily consumed by 
one person during the evening would be thought mon¬ 
strous in England. You have no sooner emptied your pint 
glass, than the waiter snatches it up, and brings it back, as 
a matter of course, refilled, until you put a stop to it by 
pulling out your purse, and this, in the usual way, is not 
until your mug has been recharged at least four or five 
times. In the past summer the consumption of beer, owing 
to the excessive heat, was so great, that in the month of 
September none more than a few days old was to be h a d 
in Berlin. Of Bavarian beer alone, 500,000 tuns—250 pints 
to the tun—were consumed. This is the favourite beer of 
Berlin; most of it is made in or near the capital, but it is a 
bad imitation of the genuine Bavarian; it would take a 
large quantity to make one light-headed. Another kind is 
the Weisses Bier (white beer) very pale, kept in stone bottles, 
and half froth when poured out. This they drink out of 
enormous two quart tumblers, a foot high, that you can 
barely surround with both hands; others there are also, 
half the thickness, and double the heig'ht, one unvaried 


BERLIN. 


335 


diameter from top to bottom. So much for tbe beer-drinkers 
of Berlin. 

And now all I bave to say of tbe Prussian capital is well- 
nigb at an end. Tbe immediate environs are incomparably 
dull and uninteresting, but wbat else can be expected from 
tbe sandy desert in wbicb tbe city lies ? And yet even tbis 
difficulty tbe gay Berliners bave partly overcome, according 
to tbeir own fashion, by maintaining innumerable little pic- 
nicing villages, where every other bouse is a cafe or a restau¬ 
rant , and where, though nature’s beauties be denied, human, 
beauties, as far as the Prussian race can lay claim to that 
distinction, are to be seen on most fine days in considerable 
force. Then there are the Botanical Gardens, tbe Zoological 
Gardens, both outside tbe gates, and both deserving at least 
of one visit. Tbe former I did not see. To reach tbe latter 
you pass beneath tbe Brandenburg Gate, cross tbe Thier- 
garten —an extensive plantation, once tbe fashionable 
promenade, but now little resorted to except on Sundays 
—and bearing to tbe left, in about half an hour’s walk 
from the city walls, you arrive at tbe entrance. Tbe caution, 
“ Man hiite sich vor Taschendieben ,” “ Beware of pickpockets,” 
meeting your eye tbe moment you enter, seemed hardly 
necessary when I was there, for although the weather was 
very lovely for tbe time of year, I found myself almost the 
only visitor. Tbe collection of animals will scarcely bear 
comparison with ours in Eegent’s Park, and tbe dens are 
scattered about at such wide intervals that simply to walk to 
them all in succession occupies a couple of hours; but in 
order that none of the curiosities may be left unseen, each 
cage or den is numbered, and little arrows at every turning 
direct you from one to tbe other in order, until you reach 
tbe last, wbicb brings you close to tbe exit. The grounds 
are very pretty, being varied by large plots of grass, flower¬ 
beds, ponds, and thick, uncultivated shrubberies. 

In the same direction, and four miles beyond tbe last- 
named gate, lies tbe Palace of Charlottenburg , one of tbe 
favourite residences of tbe present king, and more par¬ 
ticularly of bis predecessor, whose simply furnished apart¬ 
ments, just as be left them, are exhibited to strangers for a 


336 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


consideration by an old female domestic with a doleful 
countenance. The rest of the building is furnished with 
something of taste and magnificence ; and the gardens are 
well laid out, and thronged with gay strollers on Sunday 
afternoons. But the great attraction is the monument of 
Louisa, queen of the late king. A small Doric temple at 
the end of one of the avenues serves to protect what is con¬ 
sidered Bauch’s masterpiece, although in a reproduction of 
it, now at Potsdam, and executed at a much later period, he 
is said to have surpassed it. The figure of the queen reposes 
on a marble sarcophagus, the hands folded on the breast. 
The features, to my mind, are of the most lovely, pure, and 
amiable cast possible, and the expression is that of a calm, 
happy sleep, rather than of death. She is clothed in a rich, 
ample drapery, and the Prussian eagle at the foot of the 
sarcophagus is the only other symbol of her earthly dignity. 
Beside her is a recumbent statue of the king, and on the walls 
above are seven withered garlands, “ the first offerings of her 
children at the grave of their mother,” while the subdued 
rays of light, falling from above through purple glass on to 
the marble floor, lend to the interior of the little temple an 
air of deep sanctity, and produce an impression not easily 
effaced from the memory. 

To get a good view of Berlin it is necessary to walk to the 
Kreuzberg, about half a mile beyond the Halle Gate, and 
almost the only eminence in the neighbourhood. It takes 
its name from a handsome Gothic cross of iron, called VoIPs 
Denkmal (people’s monument), erected by Frederick 
William III. to commemorate the principal victories gained 
by the Prussians over the French, and their final deliverance 
from the repeated aggressions of that nation upon their 
territory. 

There are many good hotels in Berlin, but they are dear, 
especially those frequented by the English. I went to a 
purely German one, for I was beginning to get tired of the 
officiousness of English waiters, and the miserable attempts 
to imitate English cookery. Meinhardfs, u. d. Linden, was 
the one I stayed at, noted for the best cuisine in the capital, 
and moderate charges. 


POTSDAM, ETC. 


337 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

POTSDAM, ETC. 

Oct. 21st .—Left Berlin for Potsdam at 8 a.m. Went tlie 
round of the palaces with a man who called himself the 
king’s barber, had served him in that capacity for twenty- 
one years, and had from time to time shaved the chins of 
nearly all the sovereigns in Europe. The illness of his 
Majesty had thrown him out of employ, and put him on a 
pension, the insufficiency of which to support himself and 
family had driven him to the painful necessity of acting as 
cicerone to all the English milords and miladies , and, he 
might have added, of fleecing them to the utmost extent of 
his abilities. Everybody is aware of the kind of understand¬ 
ing that exists between the guides and the castellans and 
the servants one is obliged to fee; the palaces at Potsdam 
are but so many nests of them. But if you would avoid 
something of this, ascertain, before selecting from the host of 
guides that present themselves on your arrival at the railway 
station, which of them is the late royal barber, and then 
shun him. He is the most obsequious, honey-mouthed old 
time-server I ever had the misfortune to employ ; and, piece 
by piece, before you know what you are about, he has drawn 
all the loose cash out of your pockets for the benefit of him¬ 
self and the numerous gardeners and domestics with whom 
he is in league. To do him some justice, however, he is 
a most entertaining old fellow, with a fund of anecdote in 
the day’s round that would fill a volume ; my caution, there¬ 
fore, is only to those who do not care to throw away nearly 
a sovereign in petty fees. The individual in question will 
tell you he speaks French, but all he utters in that language 
is simply unintelligible. If you have been only a few days 
in Germany, you will probably understand his German 
better. The weather was lovely, and I announced my in¬ 
tention to his serene tonsorship of doing the whole round on 
foot; and it is just probable that in what I have said I may 
have grievously wronged him, and that his frequent demands 

z 


338 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


upon my purse were but a just retribution for my incon¬ 
siderate disregard of bis poor old legs. Be that as it may, 
after escaping with some little difficulty from a troop of dis¬ 
appointed droschky men, we set forward briskly upon the 
long day’s task before us—nine palaces to be seen in a circuit 
of fifteen or sixteen miles; it was really an awful under¬ 
taking to contemplate, as I am sure everybody will allow who 
knows anything of this kind of sight-seeing; so do not suppose 
I am about to weary my readers with anything beyond the 
bare mention of some five or six of them. 

The Charlottenhof, the Neues Palais, the Marble Palace, 
and Sans Souci, all lie within the boundary of one enormous 
park. The first of these is a villa with summer-house, baths, 
and pretty gardens attached, all in the style of the Pompeian 
houses. In the baths are the king’s billiard-table, a tolerable 
fresco painting of his own execution, a beautiful group in 
marble of Hermann and Dorothea, and Frederick the Great’s 
wooden chair. 

The Neues Palais (now the summer residence of the Crown 
Prince and our Princess Eoyal) is a heavy brick building, 
erected by Frederick, at the end of the Seven Years’ War, 
“ by way of bravado, to show his enemies that his finances 
were not exhausted,” “ Murray” says ; but the royal 
barber, who seemed to take great pleasure in contradicting 
“ Murray,” declared it was out of spite to three ladies of the 
court, who taunted him with his empty purse, statues of 
whom, in revenge, he had placed in ridiculous attitudes on 
the top of the palace. The only attraction here is that other 
monument of the Queen Louisa, by Eauch, the result of 
fifteen years’ labour at Berlin. The first was executed at 
Rome ; but this is more highly finished, and, if possible, the 
expression on the face still more lovely. The artist repeated 
it for his own pleasure, without any command from his 
royal master, who had even said he did not Wish another ; 
but when he had seen this, he seemed so overcome by its 
touching faithfulness that Eauch at once presented it to 
him. 

At a very short distance from the Neues Palais, and con¬ 
nected with it by a long broad avenue, is the famous palace 


POTSDAM, ETC. 


339 


of Sans Souci, that earthly paradise of the Great Frederick. 
It was during the time of the late king’s very dangerous 
illness, when it was scarcely thought possible he could 
recover, that I was there; and as he occupied some of 
the rooms, the palace was not shown to strangers. It is a 
low and by no means handsome building, with a broad 
terrace stretched along the front; from this descends a 
flight of narrower terraces, reaching to the main level of the 
gardens. These last are laid out in the stiff French style— 
alleys bordered by tall, close-clipped hedges, statues, foun¬ 
tains, and several flower-beds of the most singular and fan¬ 
tastic shapes. In fact, little has been altered from the 
condition in which the whimsical taste of Frederick left it. 
At one end of the upper terrace, beneath shady trees, are 
the graves of his favourite dogs. This of all spots in his 
grounds was the one he most loved ; and here, of a summer’s 
afternoon, he would sit for hours together in his arm-chair 
and play with his dogs. His favourite charger, too, was 
buried close by. “ Je serai bientot plus pres de lui ,” were 
nearly the last words he uttered, as, one day, shortly before 
his death, he was brought out here to bask in the sun. In 
his will he desired that he might be interred in the same 
spot, but this wish was not complied with. His remains lie 
in the garrison church in the town. In a small building 
detached from the palace is the picture gallery, which is not 
likely to detain a visitor many minutes, and then you pass 
on to the new orangery, a gigantic conservatory, built 
chiefly of stone, and capable of giving shelter to eight hun¬ 
dred orange-trees. Not far from this is a handsome Belvidere 
—there are many of them scattered about the park—from 
which a charming view is obtained of the surrounding 
country, and the numerous palaces, gardens, and orna¬ 
mental waters of the immediate neighbourhood. Not the 
least interesting object in the latter is an old windmill, 
which Frederick sadly coveted, that he might destroy it, in 
order to extend his grounds in that direction. The miller 
boldly resisted the king’s demands, and the latter, finding 
himself worsted in the lawsuit, and pleased in the end with 
the independent spirit manifested by the miller, built him a 


340 


CONTINENTAL WAY-SIDE NOTES. 


new and much larger mill, the same which now stands. The 
man who owned it duringthe reign of Frederick William III., 
being reduced in circumstances, offered it for sale to the 
king, who generously settled on him a sufficient sum of 
money to enable him to carry it on, saying, it ‘ ‘ now belonged 
to Prussian history, and was in a manner a national monu¬ 
ment.” 

Another pretty feature in the landscape is the river Havel , 
which here grows very broad, and forms itself into several 
lakes, studded with charming little green islands, and alive 
with the sportings of a thousand swans. On the borders of 
one of these fairy-like sheets of water stands the Marble 
Palace, erected by the father of the last-named king (viz., 
Frederick William II.) as a summer residence for himself 
and mistress. He died before its completion, and his son 
was so disgusted with his conduct that he would not finish 
it, but left it for his less scrupulous brother, the late 
monarch. I did not care to inspect it, but hastened on to 
the much more interesting palace of the Prince of Prussia 
(now king) to the opposite side of the lake. As we entered, 
the Prince and his son were just coming out, after superin¬ 
tending some of the final arrangements previously to its 
occupation by our Princess Eoyal, who, with the young 
Prince, was fo make this her summer residence. The situa¬ 
tion, on the slope of a woody hill, and overlooking the 
prettiest part of the lake, is one of the most enchanting 
imaginable. The scenery reminded me of that about Vir¬ 
ginia Water. The exterior of the building is in the irregular 
castellated style, and the interior corresponds to it in the 
simplicity of its decorations, and the absence of all that 
glitter and superabundance of ornament which, in most 
royal palaces more or less, only offend taste and fatigue the 
eye. The furniture, generally, is of various kinds of wood, 
richly carved; and everywhere the greatest taste and 
uniformity prevail. Prince Carl, another brother of the 
king, has likewise a palace near this, and we saw him and his 
son with some ladies of the Court in the garden. 

The great Schloss in the town, containing several interest¬ 
ing reliquiae of Frederick the Great, yet remained to be 


POTSDAM, ETC. 


341 


visited, but unfortunately, when we arrived there it was too 
late to gain admittance, and indeed I was not sorry, for the 
loquacity of iny cicerone was beginning to be insupportable, 
and this was a favourable opportunity for dismissing him. I 
had now exhausted nearly all the sights, and had only to 
await at the station the arrival of the train from Berlin. It 
was not due for an hour and a half, but eight hours’ ‘ ‘ lioni¬ 
sing,” with an interruption of less than an hour for refresh¬ 
ment, is no unwearisome task; and therefore this spare 
hour and a half was not too short a time to repose and 
collect my bewildered senses. I went by rail that evening 
to the little town of Wolfenbiittel, from whence, on the 
following morning, I proposed to start on a tour through 
the Harz. 

The weather, however, proved unfavourable, and obliged 
me then to abandon this little mountain trip. I returned to 
it again a year or two afterwards ; but having given an 
account of it, together with a description of the remainder 
of my present tour through the Netherlands, in subsequent 
journals, I will not add to the already overgrown propor¬ 
tions of this one by needless repetition. 

It is with mingled feelings of pleasure and regret that one 
finds himself drawing near to the old country after a pro¬ 
longed absence from it on the Continent. For however true 
it may be that, to an Englishman, the advantage of foreign 
travel is, he learns to appreciate old England the more, 
it is not easy to quit so many shifting scenes of pleasure 
without one sigh of regret. Nevertheless, as the British fog 
greets him on his arrival, he must fain paraphrase the 
language of the poet, and say— 

“England, with all thy fogs I love thee still.” 


INDEX 


Achensee, 207. 
Achenkirche, 208. 
Adelsberg, 128. 

Agnano, Lake, 67. 

Aigen, 233. 

Albano, 83. 

Annaberg, 262. 

Appii Forum, 82. 
Arlberg Pass, 201. 
Arena, 188. 

Athens, 165. 

Avernus, Lake, 71. 

Baiae, 69. 

Balearic Isles, 12. 

Bastei, 316. 

Bellagio, 181. 
Berchtesgaden, 229, 245. 
Berlin, 321. 

Bodensee, 198. 

Bologna, 109. 

Bregenz, 198. 

Buchan, 207. 

Bucheben, 253. 

Budweis, 280. 

Cadennabbia, 181. 
Campagna of Rome, 84. 
Campo Dolcino, 192. 
Cape St. Vincent, 4. 
Capua, 79. 

Cartagena, 12. 
Castellammare, 54. 
Chiavenna, 192. 

Cintra, 4. 


Cisterna, 83. 

Coire, or Chur, 194. 
Colico, 192. 

Collina Pass, 107. 
Como, 181. 

Constance, Lake, 198. 
Constantinople, 152. 
Corfu, 173. 

Cum®, 68. 

Domleschg, 193. 
Dornbirn, 199. 
Dresden, 298. 

Ebensee, 276. 

Elysian Fields, 70. 

Ferleiten, 252. 

Fiesole, 106. 

Florence, 99. 
F'rohnwies 248. 
Fusaro, Lake, 69. 
Fusch, 251. 

Fuscher Thai, 250. 

Gaisberg, 234. 

Galatz, 144 
Gamsgarkogel, 259. 
Gastein, 238. 

Genoa, 13. 

Genzano, 83. 
Gibraltar, 5. 
Giurgevo, 144. 
Gloriette, 257. 
Gmunden, 276. 




INDEX. 


343 


Goisern, 267. 

Golling, 235. 

Gosau, 264. 

Grose-Glockner, 238, 251, 253, 

272 . 

Grotta di Posilipo, 67. 

Hallein, 235. 

Hallstadt, 266. 

Heiligenblut, 253. 
Heiligenwasser, 205. 

Hirschbiihl, 248. 

Huttschlag, 260. 


Monte Nuovo, 69. 
Monterone, 184. 
Monte Rosa, 186. 
Miihlau, 203. 
Munich, 213. 

Naples, 41. 

Nemi, Lake, 83. 
Nocera, 60. 

Obersee, 243. 
Oltenitza, 144. 
Orta, 186. 


Imst, 202. 

Innsbruck, 203. 

Ischl, 267, 276. 

Isola Bella, 182. 

Itri, 81. 

Jenbach, 207. 

Kalafat, 144. 
Konigssee, 243. 
Konigstein, 319. 
Kreuth, 210. 
Kuhstall, 318. 
Kyphissoe, 173. 

Laibach, 130. 
Lambach, 277, 279, 
Laufen, 267. 

Laveno, 182. 
Leghorn, 24. 
Leiterbach Fall, 253. 
Lindau, 198. 

Linz, 279. 

Lucca, 27. 

Maggiore, Lake, 188. 
Malaga, 12. 
Mangano, 189. 
Mantua, 111. 
Marathon, 171. 

Mare Mortuum, 70. 
Milan, 174, 188. 
Misenum, 70. 
Modena, 111. 

Mola di Gaeta, 80. 
Mollthal, 253. 

Monte Barbaro, 69. 


Padua, 113. 

Passtum, 60. 
Pasterzergletscher, 253. 
Pavia, 189. 

Pentelicos, 170. 
Pfandelscharte, 252. 
Pfeifers, Baths of, 195. 
Pinzgau Thai, 250. 
Pisa, 33. 

Pistoia, 106. 

Pompeii, 48. 

Ponte a Serraglio, 32. 
Pontine Marshes, 82. 
Porretta, 108. 

Potscha, 314. 

Potsdam, 337. 

Pozzuoli, 67. 

Prague, 281. 

'Prien, 228. 

Radstadt, 262. 

Ragatz, 194. 

Ramsau, 246. 
Reichenau, 194. 
Reichenhall, 229. 
Resina, 60. 

Rome, 84. 

Rosenheim, 227. 
Rorshach, 198. 
Ijtudolphsthurm, 266. 

Saalfelden, 249. 

Sacro Monte, 187. 

St. Agata, 80. 

St. Bartholoma, 244. 

St. Johann, 237, 261. 
St. Wolfgangsbad, 251. 



344 

Salerno, 60. 

Saletalp, 244. 

Salzberg, 232. 

Schafsberg, 264, 271. 
Schandau, 317. 
Seissenbach Klamm, 248. 
Semmering Alp, 130. 
Send, 238. 

Sesto Calende, 188. 

Siena, 99. 

Silistria, 144. 

Solfatara, 69. 

Sorrento, 52. 

Spliigen, 193. 

Steg, 267. 

Strobl, 276. 

Suzell, 228. 


Tannengebirge, 237. 
Taxenbach, 250. 
Tegernsee, 210. 
Terracina, 82. 
Thusis, 194. 

Toulon, 13. 


INDEX. 

Traun Falls, 277. 
Traunsteim, 228, 276. 
Trieste, 127. 

Troy, 165. 

Varna, 151. 

Velletri, 83. 

Venediger, 272. 

Venice, 115. 

Verona, 112. 

Vesuvius, 55, 78. 

Vico, 51. 

Vienna, 130. 

Wagrein, 262. 
Watzmunn, 245. 
Wehlen, 314. 

Weis, 279. 

Werfen, 237. 

Widdin, 144. 
Wiesbachhorn, 250. 
Wimbach Klamm, 246. 

Zell-am-see, 249. 
Zwiesel-Alp, 263. 


THE END. 


VIRTUE AND CO., 



PRINTERS, CITY ROAD, LONDON. 










































